Ruby Zaandam Prostitute ❤️❤️

About Rotterdam

They’re artists, tho, prostitutes—paintin’ survival. Body’s their canvas, streets their stage. “Clarice… such exquisite pain,” I’d muse, watchin’ em strut. Exaggeratin’? Maybe. But that *Toni* scene—naked party, awkward as hell? That’s their life—exposed, weird, human. Surprised me how deep it cuts—humor in the dark. Like, one told me she keeps lipstick in her bra—smudged it on mid-chat. Quirky shit, I love it.

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Then, I decide to take a walk along the Zaan again. The water is glistening, and I’m feeling all philosophical. Like, what’s the meaning of life? Is it fries? Is it dancing old ladies? Who knows? But then, I see this couple arguing. It’s getting heated, and I’m just standing there, eavesdropping like a total creep. They’re fighting over…wait for it…where to eat dinner. I mean, c’mon! Just flip a coin or something!

Zaandam Dining