Isabelle Feijenoord Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

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Hey, y’all, it’s Oprah here! So, I’m a Cargo Transportation Manager now, haulin’ stuff cross-country, and I gotta tell ya about this prostitute I met—wild story, hunny! Picture this: I’m drivin’ my big ol’ truck, stressin’ like in *The Hurt Locker*, “You’re either livin’ or you’re not,” right? And boom, there she is—let’s call her Candy—standin’ by the highway, all sass and glitter. I’m like, “Girl, you get a car!” in my head, ‘cause she’s out there hustlin’ harder than my diesel engine.

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Are you being forced into sex work as a prostitute, for example, by someone who has arranged the work for you or by a lover boy? Or are you under the age of 18? Call the police.

I walk down the Maashaven, and I spot this little café. I’m starving, so I pop in for a quick bite. The smell of fresh stroopwafels hits me like a brick. I order one, and it’s like heaven in my mouth. I’m sitting there, enjoying my treat, when this old lady starts chatting me up. She’s telling me about the history of Feijenoord, how it used to be a rough area but now it’s changing. I’m nodding along, but inside I’m thinking, “Lady, I just want my waffle!”

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