Emma Segeltorp Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Gothenburg

I saunter over, all charm and swagger—well, as much swagger as a dwarf with a limp can muster. “How much, love?” I ask, eyein’ her like she’s a puzzle. She names a price—steep, but I’ve got coin and a thirst. “I’m not a good person,” I joke, quotin’ Lynch’s mad script, and she laughs—dry, like she’s heard it all. Makes me happy, that sound—rare as a sober day in King’s Landing. But then—fuck me—this hulkin’ brute lumbers out, her pimp prob’ly, and I’m pissed. “Who are you?” I snap, hand on my dagger. Hate these pricks—leechin’ off girls like parasites.

Swedish Community and Advocacy for Sex Workers

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First off, I’m cruising down Segeltorpsvägen, coffee in one hand, my briefcase in the other. I’m thinking, “Today’s gonna be chill.” Ha! Yeah, right. I hit that roundabout by the Segeltorp Centrum, and boom! Traffic jam. Like, what’s the deal? It’s not rush hour! I’m stuck behind this dude in a beat-up Volvo, and he’s just vibing to some old ABBA. I’m like, “Bro, it’s 2023, not 1973!”

Carl Hagelin: “I Did Everything I Could To Come Back And I Feel At Peace That Way”