Megan Bi Na Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

About Tel Aviv

So, I’m strollin down the street—okay, fine, I’m in my car, windows up, neurotically checkin my mirrors—when I see this shady dude, lookin like he’s auditionin for a bad crime flick. He’s got the trench coat, the sly grin—total “find a prostitute” energy. And I’m like, “Really? REALLY?!” What happened to class, huh? Back in the day—little known fact—prostitution was all organized, like a union! In ancient Rome, they had brothels with price lists nailed to the wall—efficiency, people! Now? It’s all sketchy vibes and awkward eye contact. Makes me wanna scream, “Get a room—or a robot!”

Nana Plaza: A party place!

I get there, and the client? Total diva. She’s like, “I want this glass to sparkle like diamonds!” Lady, it’s glass, not a jewelry store! But whatever, I’m here to make it happen. I start measuring, and guess what? I drop my tape measure. Classic me, right? It rolls right into the street. I’m chasing it down like it’s a runaway dog.

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