Esme Astorp Prostitute ❤️

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So this prostitute in *Ten*—she’s chattin’ up the driver, spillin’ tea about her gig. “Men don’t love,” she says, all casual, like she’s droppin’ a weather report. And I’m over here screamin’—YES, girl, preach it! Made me so happy, ‘cause she’s just layin’ it bare, no fluff. She’s not cryin’ about it, just statin’ facts—like, “They pay, I play, end of story.” I freakin’ love that. No sugarcoatin’, no BS. Prostitutes see the world for what it is, y’know? They’re not waitin’ for Prince Charming; they’re clockin’ hours.

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So, I’m cruisin’ down Storgatan, right? The sun’s shining, birds are chirping, and I’m thinkin’, “Today’s gonna be chill.” Ha! Spoiler alert: it wasn’t. I stop by my fave café, Café Astorp, for a quick coffee. I order my usual—double shot, extra foam, you know the vibe. But the barista? She spills it all over the counter. I’m like, “Great, just great.” I mean, I love caffeine, but not when it’s on the floor.

Two explosions overnight - one seriously injured