Rebecca Veymandoo Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️

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So, I’m stalkin’ closer—slow, ominous, y’know? She’s got this look, like she knows I’m a Sith messin’ with fate. “What’s your price?” I rasp. She laughs—LAUGHS—at me! Pissed me off, like, who’s this nobody mockin’ Darth freakin’ Vader? But then she says, “50 credits, big guy.” Cheap! Surprised me—thought she’d rob me blind. “The air hums with silence,” movie line pops in my head—fit the moment perfect.

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Finally, we get back inside, and I’m thinking, “Okay, let’s get back to work.” But nope! The printer jams. Again. I swear, that thing has it out for me. I’m wrestling with it, and my coworker, Aisha, walks by and says, “You know, it’s not a wrestling match, right?” Thanks, Aisha. Real helpful.

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