Stella Ende Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Palembang

Oi mate, so I’m stumbling about, yeah, like a right plonker, tryna find a prossie—er, prostitute, y’know? Me, Mr. Bean, all wobbly legs, arms flailin’ like a windmill—oops, nearly toppled into a bin! *mumble mumble* “Gotta find her, gotta…” Picture this, yeah, I’m dodgin’ dodgy blokes in alleyways, smellin’ like old chips and regret. Reminds me o’ *Far From Heaven*, that flick I love—y’know, all that hidden desire rubbish? Cathy in her posh frocks, sneakin’ about, wantin’ what she can’t have. Me? I’m wantin’ a prossie, but I’m rubbish at this!

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Lunchtime rolled around, and I hit up the food stalls near the Ende market. Man, the smell of grilled satay was intoxicating. I got a plate, and it was like a flavor explosion in my mouth. I was in food heaven! But then, outta nowhere, it started pouring. I mean, like, monsoon-level rain. I was soaked in seconds. I was laughing and cursing at the same time. “Only in Ende,” I thought.

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