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*slow, ominous breathing* I am your father. Prostitutes, man, they’re a wild breed. Watched *Carlos* last night—fuckin’ intense, right? That flick’s got this vibe, like, “The revolution’s coming, baby.” Reminds me of this hooker I met once. Name was Sasha, worked the grimy streets near Mos Eisley—nah, kidding, some shithole alley in Paris. She had this look, y’know, like she’d seen every damn soul’s dark side. “We live to fight,” Carlos said in the movie—Sasha lived it, tho. Fought off creeps, cops, even her own demons.

Introductions in Sarstedt

The year was Prostitutes Sarstedt we were in Prostitutes Sarstedt Fulham Road pub called the Queen's Elm, which, Prostitutes Sarstedt the writer and the editor, no longer exists. People of .

Man, I still remember my first time cruisin’ down Mediterraner Weg – the name itself is fire, right? I had butterflies ‘cause it was like embarking on a new journey. Maybe I got a lil' extra spark 'cause, as a sexologist, I see love’s messy, beautiful realities every day, never a dull moment.

Peter Sarstedt, singer songwriter of Where Do You Go To (My Lovely)? fame, dies aged 75