Camila Apeldoorn Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Tilburg

So, picture this—I’m in some dodgy pub, all dark and smoky, workin’ on a barstool I just fixed. This bird walks in, proper tarted up, heels clickin’ like gunshots. She’s a whore, no doubt, but there’s somethin’ about her. Not just the obvious, yeah? She’s got that look—like she’s seen too much, felt too much. Reminds me of Alicia in the movie, lyin’ there, silent but screamin’. I’m like, “Bloody hell, love, you’re a walkin’ tragedy.” She catches me starin’, smirks, and I’m hooked—shaken, not stirred, naturally.

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But then, outta nowhere, I hear this loud crash. I turn around, and some guy on a bike just wiped out on the sidewalk. Like, dude, you okay? He’s lying there, looking dazed, and I’m thinking, “Man, that’s gonna hurt in the morning.” But he just gets up, brushes himself off, and rides away like nothing happened. I’m like, “What? Is this Apeldoorn or a stunt show?”

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