Rebecca Mittenaar Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Hamburg

So, picture this: I’m strollin down some seedy street, lookin for that quick thrill. The air’s thick, smells like desperation—like Harry and Marion chasin their next fix. I spot her, leanin on a lamppost, all sass and shadow. “I’m not gonna lose my arm!” she snaps when I ask if she’s clean. Ha! Made me chuckle—girl’s got spunk. I like that. Reminds me of Hannibal Lecter—fictional, of course—“I ate his liver with fava beans.” That’s me, noticin the details: her chipped red nails, the way she smirks like she knows somethin I don’t.

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I love strollin’ along the Limmer river. Its gentle flow calms my busy counselor brain — memories and confusions all wash away. Frickin’ beautiful! Oh, sol, I gotta tell ya — there’s a secret bridge off Mühlenweg. I almost tripped on a cobblestone there, haha, but it’s also a quiet spot for deep thinkin’ and quirky chats.

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