Willow Medvode Whore ❤️

About Trbovlje

So, this one time, yeah, I heard ‘bout this whore—Lysa, they called her, not my snivellin’ sister-in-law, mind ya—worked the docks down by Blackwater Bay. Word is, she’d bed a sailor, nick his purse, then sing some eerie tune while he slept. Proper mad, that one! Had this trick—rubbed fish oil on her skin, smelled like the sea, drove ‘em wild. Little known bit, that—fish oil! Who’d thunk it? Made me laugh, actual cackle, ‘til I choked on me drink. Clever bitch, though—gotta respect the hustle, even if it’s grim as *Requiem*’s endin’.

Velikost pisave

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Then I hit up the local café, you know, the one on Trg Svobode. I needed coffee. Like, life-depending-on-it coffee. I order a cappuccino, and the barista, bless her heart, spills half of it. I’m like, “Great, just what I needed!” But she’s super apologetic, and I can’t stay mad. I mean, who can resist a cute smile, right?

70 Years since the Start of the Construction of the Medvode Hydroelectric Power Station