Brooklyn Cambridge Find A Prostitute ❤️

About New Plymouth

Walkin’ past neon signs, I’m sizin’ em up. One’s got a vibroblade scar—badass. Another’s smokin’ death sticks, winkin’ like she owns me. “The concierge is at your service”—yeah, right, more like, “Pay up, mask-face.” Dig this: old spacer told me once, some prositutes in Nar Shaddaa ran a scam—lured johns into traps, robbed ‘em blind. Sneaky bastards. Love that hustle, tho—keeps ya sharp.

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First off, I decided to hit up the Cambridge Farmers’ Market. You know, the one on Victoria Square? I was all hyped for fresh produce and maybe some artisanal cheese. I mean, who doesn’t love cheese, right? But when I got there, it was packed! Like, shoulder-to-shoulder packed. I felt like a sardine in a can.

Bridge crashes spark debate