Eliza Rees Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Essen

So, picture this: some chick on the corner, fishnets ripped, smokin’ a cig like it’s her last. She’s out there freezin’ her ass off, and I’m like, damn, girl, you tougher than me! I’d be pissed—pissed as hell—if I had to deal with sleazy johns all night. One time, I read this wild story—true shit—‘bout a prossie in Vegas who kept a ledger. Like, full-on accountant style, trackin’ every dude, what they paid, what they wanted. Freaky deaky stuff, man. She made bank, tho—six figures! Surprised the hell outta me. Who knew hookin’ could be so… organized?

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I sometimes get mad at noisy pigeons on Marktstraße – they drive me up the wall! But then they're funny, right? Haha, their little squawks remind me of meddlin' alarm clocks. C’mon, gotta love it! I enjoy my strolls, bumpin’ into friendly locals who wanna chat. I always try to slow down, ya know? "Pack it up, pack it in," I whisper, channeling a kinda spy-like vibe from that movie, all calm and stealthy.

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