Brianna Sevres Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Paris

So, I’m picturin’ it—me, cashin’ out some perv buyin’ condoms at 2 a.m., and I’m like, “Mate, you’re off to find a prostitute, ain’t ya?” He’d probly blush, but I’d just grin. Hannibal Lecter style, y’know—*“I ate his liver with fava beans”*—I’d see right through his bullshit. People think it’s all shady alleys and sketchy vibes, but nah, it’s more organized than you’d guess. Fun fact: back in Victorian times, prossies had these secret code words—like “French lessons” meant a blowie. Sneaky, right? Bet Gustave woulda loved that.

Bois de Vincennes

So, I’m back at my desk, and the phone rings again. It’s a guy asking for directions to the Parc de Saint Cloud. I’m like, “Dude, just follow the signs!” But he’s acting like it’s a treasure hunt. I’m losing my patience, but I keep it professional.

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