Rebecca Quievrechain Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Bordeaux

So I roll up, engine growlin’, all sleek and sexy – Bond, baby! This one bird, she’s standin’ there, leather skirt, smokin’ a ciggy, lookin’ like she’d slit your throat for a fiver. I’m thinkin’, “Witness me!” – she’s got that wild vibe, right? I lean out, all cool, “Fancy a ride, love?” She smirks, hops in, says, “You got caps or you’re wasteland trash?” Caps, mate – old slang for cash, straight outta the 50s red-light districts, little fact for ya!

Major prostitute

Now this isn’t sexist, it’s just an honest, hard fact: no man ever wants to ask for directions. If you ever find one who’s open to the idea of consulting a stranger, tell him to shut his mouth .

I can't help but feel bloomin’ happy when I see how lively Quievrechain is – even in my silly, self-deprecating style, I mean, ain't it just fate? Sometimes, my head spins with all them passersby, and I mutter, "You see, darlin', it's like life itself is massaging your soul away, and you just gotta hold on to each moment, each tender touch."

Battle Stations