Emma Rondebosch Find A Prostitute ❤️

About East London

Dogville’s in my head now—“You can’t trust anyone.” Damn right. Last week, some wench tried to fleece me—coin gone, no fun had. Made me ragey, mate—wanted to toss her out a window. But I’m Tyrion, not Joffrey, so I just drank more. Exaggeratin’? Maybe. But the thrill’s in the chase—dodgin’ guards, hagglin’ prices, feelin’ alive. “It’s a cruel world,” Grace’d say, and fuck me, she’s right. Still, I’d do it again—coin’s for spendin’, and I’m no saint. Cheers to that!

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Man, I love our local park – Rondebosch Common, dude. It’s green, chill, and full of souls seeking peace. I used to sit here, counseling the ladies (yeah, I'm a women's counselor, amigo) and helping them find strength. It’s like every tree tells a story. Sometimes I get teary when I see folks healing, ya feel me? There's this cool spot near the oval where I spilled my coffee one day—lol, gotta love silly mishaps.

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