Victoria Tel Sheva Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Holon

So, findin’ a prossie—where d’ya even start? Back in MI6 days, I’d scope the scene, all cool-like, martini in hand. Shaken, not stirred, obvs. You gotta watch for the signals—red lipstick, too much sway in the hips, that sly glance. Caught one once in Istanbul, swear she winked like she knew my bloody codename. Surprised me, that did—thought I was slicker than that. Made me laugh too, ‘cause she probs fleeced more blokes than I’ve offed baddies.

Then, outta nowhere, a group of rowdy teens bursts in. They’re loud, obnoxious, and full of energy. I mean, c’mon, it’s like 10 AM! They start ordering all these fancy cocktails. I’m like, “Dude, this ain’t a club!” But I whip up some fruity nonsense anyway. They love it. Ugh.

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