Claire Tarifa Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

About Valencia

Last week, right, I’m in a tavern, tankard in hand, scopin’ the room. This bird—red lips, skirts hiked up—winks at me. I’m thinkin’, “Tyrion, you clever bastard, she’s yours.” But nah, she’s got a pimp, uglier than Gregor Clegane, breath like a latrine. Pissed me off—why’s everythin’ gotta be so complicated? “Be quiet and do what I say,” she whispers, like I’m some green boy. Cheeky cow! I’m the Imp, I know tricks she ain’t dreamed of. Paid her double just to shut her gob and get on with it. Felt good, though—coin well spent.

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And I ain't even finished. The locals, oh boy, ever so friendly after a few shots – they always remind ya that Tarifa is fierce, wild, unpredictable. They hail it as a haven for misfits, a sanctuary for souls – sometimes, you even hear echoes of "Ya gotta walk it like ya talk it." Ain’t no pretense here.

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