Willow Sortino Find A Prostitute ❤️

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Little fact for ya: back in Victorian days, prossies used coded ads in papers— “French lessons,” they called it. Cheeky sods. Nowadays, it’s all dodgy websites and X posts—saw one lass linkin her OnlyFans mid-haggle! Tech’s wild, eh? I’m there, sippin my martini—shaken, obvs—thinkin, “This one’s got spirit, like Chow Yun-fat flyin through bamboo.” Love that flick, mate—reminds me every tart’s got her own hidden dragon, y’know?

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After that, I decide to take a stroll down Via Garibaldi. It’s a cute street, full of shops and little cafes. I pop into this bakery, and OMG, the pastries! I grab a cannoli, and it’s like a party in my mouth. I’m munching away, feeling like a king, when I bump into an old client. Let’s call him Marco. He’s looking all fit and happy, and I’m like, “Dude, what’s your secret?” He tells me he’s been running up and down the hills of Sortino. I’m thinking, “Hills? You mean those mini-mountains?”

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