Lucy Tarcento Find A Prostitute ❤️

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So, I’m strollin’ down this dodgy street, wood dust still on my boots, and I see her—red heels, skirt shorter than my temper. I’m like, “Well, this could be fun!” Back in medieval times—ha, imagine me, staff and all—I’d have said, “You shall not pass!” to any creep messin’ with her. But nah, she’s got this smirk, like she knows I’m a sucker for a thrill. Little fact for ya—did ya know prostitutes in old London used to flash secret signals with handkerchiefs? Wild, right? She’s givin’ me that vibe, all mysterious.

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I’m laughing to myself when I hear this loud crash. I turn around, and some guy just knocked over a whole stand of oranges. It’s like a citrus massacre! People are slipping, yelling, and I’m just standing there, mouth agape. I mean, who knew Tarcento could be so dramatic?

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