Sadie Wesseling Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️

About Frankfurt

So, picture this—dark alley, stinks o’ piss. We hates it! This lass, she’s there, all tarted up. “What’s yer price, love?” I croaks. She eyes me like I’m a bleedin’ toad. Fair enough—I am! Made me mad, tho. Why’s she judgin’? I got coin, don’t I? Little fact—back in Victorian times, prossies had secret signals. Hand on hip meant “I’m game.” Hers was glued there, ha!

Cardiac Output Monitoring: Technology and Choice

Imma drop one more tidbit: check out the local market on Tuesdays. Folks call it Der kleine Basar, and it's a riot of colors and faces. You might bump into me there, chattin' up a storm, speakin’ in my best Dr. Phil drawl “How’s that workin’ for ya?” style, hollerin’ out advice to anyone stray enough to listen, mixing wisdom with a pinch o' sass and plenty of laughs.

Lakisha Wesseling remembers the wonderful life of her husband Chris in letter to their son Lincoln