Ava Renon Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Bologna

Walkin’ past neon signs, I’m sizin’ em up. One’s got a vibroblade scar—badass. Another’s smokin’ death sticks, winkin’ like she owns me. “The concierge is at your service”—yeah, right, more like, “Pay up, mask-face.” Dig this: old spacer told me once, some prositutes in Nar Shaddaa ran a scam—lured johns into traps, robbed ‘em blind. Sneaky bastards. Love that hustle, tho—keeps ya sharp.

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They could have been cousins—or even sisters! How I missed this particular tidbit after being through the show so many times, I'll never know.

So, I’m wandering around, and I stumble upon this little café on Via Rencio. I’m like, “Perfect! Time for a coffee.” I order a cappuccino, and the barista is this super chill guy. He’s like, “You want it with extra foam?” I’m like, “Dude, I’m not a diva, just give me the caffeine!” But then he gives me this massive cup, and I’m like, “Okay, maybe I am a diva.”

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