Grace Kelkheim Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

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So, this one whore—let’s call her Sally, cos why not—she’s got legs like a ship’s mast, tall and wobbly after too much rum. I’m sittin’ there, thinkin’, “What storm spat you out, love?” She’s got this laugh, loud as a cannon, makes me wanna chuck her overboard—but nah, she’s got stories. Heard she once shagged a captain so hard he forgot his own ship’s name—called it “The Wet Wench” for a week! Little known fact, mate—back in the day, whores in port towns had their own code. Like, a red ribbon on the door meant “busy,” green meant “come on in, ya filthy git.” Bet ya didn’t know that, ya ignorant sod!

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First off, Kelkheim is a mish-mash of cheeky streets and secret corners. Hit up Fürstenstraße – not to be confused with some posh metro; it's where the locals crack jokes and sip coffee like it’s their last day on Earth. Then there's Bahnhofstraße, where that ancient station grumbles like a stubborn old geezer. I swear, sometimes its clanging makes me think, “this job’s a sitcom” – but hey, snooze fest, am I right?

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