Claire Hoofddorp Whore ❤️❤️

About Tilburg

What gets me riled? The bloody hypocrites! Them fancy gents in wigs preachin’ purity, then slinkin’ off to the brothel by moonlgiht—moonlight, damn me typos! Makes me wanna keelhaul ‘em all. But what makes me happy? The sass! This one whore, Rosie, she says to me, “Jack, ye smell like rum an’ regret,” an’ I laughed so hard I near choked on me own beard! Surprised me, too—did ye know whores in old London ran a secret guild? Aye, kept their own code, protected each other—tougher than half me crew!

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But then, my phone buzzes. It’s my buddy asking if I wanna hit up a bar later. I’m like, “Heck yeah!” So I head over to the bar on the Hoofdweg. It’s packed, and the energy is wild. I grab a drink, and we start chatting about our day. I tell him about the coffee spill, the fancy dude, and the skateboard fail. We’re cracking up, and I’m just so happy to be here.

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