Ellie Imatra Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

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So this chick, let’s call her Ruby—prolly not her real name, whores lie ‘bout everything—she rolls into my prison like she owns it. Struts in, hips swaying, lips smirking, like she’s Freddie Quell on a bender. I’m thinkin’, “What’s your angle, sweetheart?” ‘Cause everybody’s got one. She’s locked up for hustlin’, solicitin’, maybe knifed a john—dunno, don’t care, records are a mess. Point is, she’s a pro. Not just at screwin’—at screwin’ *people*. Got this vibe, y’know? Like she could charm the bars off this dump.

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Imatra, oh boy, is not your typical city. Picture the mighty Imatrankoski rapids crashing fiercely near the city centre. Yeah, that's the place. I wander by the banks, feeling the intensity of nature and my own passions intertwined. There's a quaint cafe on Kyläntori street. I swear, every time I pass by, I hear a whisper, "I am your father."

Imatra Electricity Substation / Virkkunen & Co Architects