Charlotte Corroios Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️

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So, I’m prowlin’, yeah, lookin’ for one. Not my usual gig – I’d rather bid on a cursed mask or summat. But there she is, leanin’ on a wall, smokin’ a fag like she owns the night. “What’s yer price, love?” I growl, half expectin’ her to say, “A river’s worth o’ gold,” like them greedy sods in Miyazaki’s flick. She laughs – rough, like gravel – an’ says, “Firty quid, big man.” Thirty! I’m gobsmacked, mate. Thought it’d be more, what with inflation an’ all.

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Corroios is my base of operations and find-a-prostitute runs through my veins. Your voice sends shivers down my spine. I have a soft spot for both French.

First off, I’m heading down Rua da Liberdade, and I trip over my own feet. Classic me. I’m like, “Great start, dude.” But whatever, I brush it off. I get to the office, and it’s chaos. Papers everywhere! I’m a document specialist, not a paper ninja!

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