Zoe Piossasco Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

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So, findin a prostitute ain’t like orderin pizza. Takes finesse, or maybe just dumb luck. I’m picturin it now—me, sneakin down some foggy alley, “The past is a memory!”—that’s from the flick, total mindfuck line. Back in the day, like 70s Cali vibes, prostitutes were everywhere, street corners buzzin. Fun fact—LA had this secret code, right? Red lipstick meant “available,” white gloves meant “classy”—weird, huh? Dunno if that’s still a thing, prolly not, world’s too digital now.

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But then, I hear this commotion. A street performer is jugglin’ fire! I’m like, “What the heck?!” People are gatherin’, and I’m just standin’ there, mouth agape. He drops a torch, and I’m like, “Dude, you’re gonna burn the whole place down!” But he recovers like a pro. The crowd goes wild.

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