Grace Tostedt Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Munich

Personal quirk? I’m imaginin’ her in my Aston Martin, leather seats, screamin’ my name—exaggeratin’? Maybe, but who gives a toss? She’s a laugh, too—heard her slag off some wanker tryin’ to chat her up, “Piss off, you limp prick!” Had me in stitches, nearly dropped my drink. Sarcasm’s her game, and I’m here for it.

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I can't go out I'm sick boo you whore.

I’m walkin’ these streets, sometimes near the Tostedt river, where the water gently flows, like a soft whisper of secrets, and I see folks by the banks, laughing, lovin’, free, just livin’. It’s like one of those movie scenes, real poetic, but also gritty like the backalleys of Newark. And lemme tell ya, I got a few dirty little anecdotes from my work here. People come in, spillin’ their souls, and I’m thinkin’ “Gabagool? Ova here!” as if every secret is meant for this place, ya know?

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