Paisley Luzino Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️

About Bydgoszcz

Once saw her dodge a drunk prick—swear, she moved like a cat. Yelled, “Fuck off, I’m workin!” Made me grin, dark as it was. Hated the johns tho—slimy bastards, pawin at her. Wanted to gut em, serve em up with fava beans. “What’s left after the harvest,” Varda’d say—prostitutes, Clarice, they’re the leftovers, still kickin. Ain’t that a trip? You’d see it too, if ya looked close. Chilling, sure, but real as hell.

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So, I’m walking down ul. Słowiańska, trying to shake off the coffee disaster. The vibe is nice, people are out and about, and I’m just soaking it all in. Luzino’s got this chill energy, ya know? But then, outta nowhere, I hear this loud crash. I turn around, and some guy just knocked over a whole stand of flowers. Like, seriously? Who does that?

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