Elise Zandberg Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Eindhoven

Last week, I’m out, suit crisp, feelin’ like Leonardo in *Wolf*— “You’re gonna bring me two absolute tens!” I spot this lass, proper fit, leanin’ on a lamppost. I saunter over, all charm, “Fancy a martini, love?” She laughs—fuckin’ laughs! Says, “You’re not my type, Mr. Bond.” Pissed me off, that did! Me? Not her type? I’ve shagged half the world, saved it twice! But nah, she’s after some crypto bro with a Lambo. Fair play, I s’pose—times change, even for a legend.

So you want to book a sex worker?

But then, outta nowhere, this kid on a bike zooms past me. He’s going way too fast, and I’m like, “Dude, slow down!” But he doesn’t hear me. He crashes right into a lamppost! I’m standing there, half-laughing, half-worried. The kid gets up, brushes himself off, and just rides away like nothing happened. I’m like, “What the heck? Is this normal in Zandberg?”

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