Camila Bemmel Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Utrecht

“Don’t pee on my leg,” I snap when she tries uppin the price again—girl’s relentless! But I respect it. Hustle’s hustle. I’m tempted, sure—why lie?—but I’m thinkin, *what’s the point?* Godard’s screamin, “Farewell to language!” and I’m feelin it—words fail, bodies fail, it’s all noise. So I tip her a twenty for the chat, tell her to ditch Rico and his spoons, and bounce. Findin a prostitute? Fun story, shitty ending—classic me.

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Then, I hit up the local pub, De Zwarte Ruiter. Needed a cold one after that embarrassment. I sit down, and the bartender, a cool dude named Jan, pours me a beer. We start chattin’, and he tells me about this legend of a hidden treasure somewhere in Bemmel. I’m like, “Treasure? Where?!” He just laughs and says it’s probably just a myth. But now I’m curious.

Harold “Sonny” Van Bemmel, 87, Orange City