Rebecca Frankhuis Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Utrecht

But ugh, the stench—alleyways, sweat, cheap perfume—gags me, yesss. Hate that part, makes me wanna claw me eyes out. Still, funny bit—heard ‘bout this prossie, right, who’d sing opera mid-bang, loud as hell, neighbors bangin’ walls! “Too much, man!” I cackle, picturin’ it, her belting *La Traviata*, client all confused. Classic! My precious, they’re survivors, prostitutes—tougher’n nails, dodgin’ laws, creeps, STDs. “Can’t hang with that,” I mutters, like Doc ditchin’ bad vibes.

Wat mag je vragen?

Next, I decide to stroll down to the park by the Singel. It’s chill, ya know? I plop down on a bench, just vibin’. I see this couple arguing. Like, full-on shouting. I’m thinkin’, “Dude, not the place!” But then, they start laughing. What a plot twist! Love is weird, man.

In Anne Frank’s childhood neighborhood, the buildings do not forget