Maeve Lavagno Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Turin

Alright, so I’m Dr. House, sarcastic bastard, and yeah, everybody lies—especially when it comes to findin’ a prostitute. You think people are honest about that? Ha! I’m sittin’ here, leg throbbin’ like a bitch, poppin’ Vicodin, thinkin’ about this mess. Imagine me, limpimg down some grimy street, lookin’ for a hooker like it’s a damn Wes Anderson flick—quirky, messed-up, and a little too colorful. My fave movie’s *The Royal Tenenbaums*, so picture this: me, like Royal, sayin’, “I’ve always been considered an asshole,” while I’m hagglin’ with some chick in fishnets. Classic.

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But then, the mood shifts. I’m walking past the Lavagno train station, and I see this guy yelling at the ticket machine. He’s losing it! “Why won’t you take my money?!” I’m like, dude, chill. It’s just a machine. But I get it. Those things can be a pain. I almost wanted to help him, but then I thought, nah, let him figure it out.

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