Lydia Noordwijk Binnen Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Groningen

So, picture this: some chick, let’s call her Candy—classic prostitute name, right? She’s out on the corner, heels clickin, skirt so short it’s basically a belt. And I’m like, “You ain’t got the hips for it!”—straight outta *Fish Tank*, Mia’s mom yellin that at her. But Candy? She’s workin it! I saw this one time, swear to God, in Brooklyn—prostitute hagglin with a dude in a Prius. A Prius! What kinda john drives that? “Save the planet, bang a hooker”? Ridiculous! Made me laugh, tho—happy as hell watchin that absurdity.

Onderzoek naar prostitutie in de Noordwijk legt pijnpunten opnieuw bloot

As I head home, I can’t shake the day off. It was a rollercoaster, for sure. I’m thinking about Bessie and her rebellious streak, Jan’s new bike, and that poor guy’s croissant. Noordwijk-Binnen, man. It’s got its quirks, but it’s home. And even on the craziest days, I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Here’s why the moon must get its own time zone