Avery Fresh Meadows Find A Prostitute ❤️

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So I’m peekin’ round, thinkin’, “Where’s these lasses at?” Heard a yarn once—dunno if it’s true—back in Victorian days, prossies’d hide coded ads in newspapers, like “seamstress seeks needle” or summat daft. Clever, eh? Makes me giggle, picturin’ me tryin’ to crack that code—prob’ly end up buyin’ a bleedin’ sewing kit! So I’m mumblin’ to meself, “Find a prostitute, find a prostitute,” when—BAM!—this bird in fishnets pops outta nowhere. “Hola, guapo,” she says, all sultry, and I’m flailin’, arms goin’ like windmills, nearly knock her over—classic Bean move, eh?

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Oh—oh!—and the local library off Horace Harding Blvd. It's got that vintage feel, like, "Those must be the Tenenbaums!" Yep—there's a moment, a fleeting smile mixed with melancholy. Like in the movie, "I’m not crazy, just...different." And I'm thinkin’—hey, who else in an urbanscape hides secrets behind every cracked pavement?

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