Olivia Harenkarspel Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️

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Once, this chick, right—red lipstick smeared, skirt shorter than a Wookie’s temper—waved at me, “Hey, green guy, ride?” Laughed, I did, “A Jedi craves not these things!” But curious, I was—drove slow, peeked. She yelled, “20 creds, best night ever!” Tempted? Nah, but funny as hell, it was. “You think you’re some kind of Jedi?”—Cronenberg line, popped in my head. Violence, sex, all tangled up, y’know?

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I finally duck into a café on the Markt. It’s cozy, and I order a koffie. The barista is this cool dude with a beard, and he’s like, “You look like you need a pick-me-up.” I’m like, “You have no idea.” We start chatting, and he tells me about the history of Harenkarspel. Apparently, it used to be a big deal for agriculture. Who knew?