Brooklyn Mettet Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Aalst

Exaggeratin’ now—imagine a whore orchestra! All dolled up, playin’ me violins, dancin’ in the streets! Ha! Skinner’d scream, “WHO COOKED THIS RATATOUILLE?!”—but nah, it’s just me, dreamin’ wild. Sarcasm? Sure—whore’s the oldest job, they say. Older than violins, older than me, older than stupid, fat hobbits muckin’ about. Still here, though—tough as nails.

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Man, there's this narrow street—Rue de la Station. It’s got cobblestones and a vibe that screams “history!” It twists and turns like a roller coaster, each corner whisperin' old secrets. One time, I was strollin' there, thinkin' about family dynamics (yeah, psychologists gotta think everywhere!) and BOOM—a kid’s laughter echoed off the walls. I swear, his joy was more contagious than any therapy session I'd ever led. "What’s your story?" I'd ask him. Like in that movie, "Stories We Tell"—our truths collide in unexpected ways.

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