Chloe Castelfiorentino Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Florence

Findin’ a prostitute ain’t rocket science, but it’s a freakin’ art. You don’t just stroll up, nah, it’s a dance—eye contact, nods, cash flashin’. I’d be pissed, tho—half these girls lie worse than my patients. “Oh, I’m clean,” they say. Sure, and I’m a ballerina. Everybody lies, right? Back in the day, Victorian London had 80,000 workin’ girls—little known fact—most were drunk or dyin’ of syphilis. Now? Same game, diff tech. They’re on apps, X posts, lurkin’ in DMs. Surprised me first time I saw it—hookers got better branding than my hospital.

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Then, we hit a roundabout. Oh boy. She’s panicking, and I’m like, “Just follow the signs!” But she’s looking everywhere except the road. We almost end up in the wrong lane. I’m gripping the seat like it’s a lifeline. Finally, she makes it through, and I’m like, “Sofia, you survived! Congrats!”

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