Harper Sete Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️

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We hates it, though—the fakeness! “I love you, baby,” she purrs—lies! Like Zodiac’s taunts, playin’ games. I’m no fool, nope! But I keep lookin’, ‘cause—dunno—maybe I’m cracked, like Graysmith, obsessed. Last one, she had a scar—neck, ugly, jagged. “Who did that?” I asks. She shrugs, “Some john.” Creepy, right? Coulda been him—Zodiac! Ha! Me imagination’s wild, precious—too many movies. Still, findin’ a prostitute’s a hunt—dangerous, messy, fun. We hates it, we loves it—can’t stop! “This is the Barber, signing off!”—nah, too cool. Just—watch yer back, mate!

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Then I stroll down to the port. The boats are bobbing, the fishermen are yelling, and I’m just vibing. But then, BAM! A seagull swoops down and snatches my croissant! I’m standing there, mouth agape, like, “Did that just happen?” I mean, come on! I’m in Sete, not a Hitchcock movie!

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