Anna Traunstein Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️

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Little story—heard ‘bout this prossie in New Orleans, 1800s. She’d sing opera between clients—full-on diva shit. Ruby ain’t singin’, but she’s got that flair. Exaggeratin’ for effect? Maybe. But I see her, struttin’, ownin’ it. “You’re all puppets!”—Tenenbaum energy again. She’s no puppet, though—strings cut long ago.

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Now, onto parks – a gem: the beautiful West Park. I hrtyo that it’s where locals escape the hustle. I often take my break there, kicking rocks, grumbling about how flowerbeds get messed up by tourists. Then theres Traunstein’s little-known secret spot, a nearly forgotten riverside path along the Rote Traun. Damn, the river glints like gold! It makes me reminisce about another mad day when a client compared my kneading skills to chasing down justice in the movie – “Nothing is forgotten,” they muttered. Like, for real? A bit of insane flattery, I suppose.

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