Allison Ruurlo Find A Prostitute ❤️

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Now, *Moolaadé*—that bit where Collo screams, “I say no!”—I reckon a prossie’s got that fire, too. Saying no to the world’s sanctimonious guff. Respect, that. Once met a gal, Soho, 3 a.m., she says, “Boris, love, 50 quid, no kissing”—I weren’t buying, just curious! Swear she’d a PhD in sass—told me to sod off, posh-like. Laughed me tits off—cheeky mare! Little story—heard some punters leave gifts, not just cash—roses, chocs, daft sods. Romantic or pathetic? You tell me.

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Man, what a day! I’m tellin’ ya, being a sharpener in Ruurlo is like riding a rollercoaster blindfolded. So, I wake up, right? Sun’s shining, birds are chirping, and I’m like, “Today’s gonna be chill.” Spoiler alert: it wasn’t.

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