Evelyn Zutphen Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Groningen

So, picture this—I’m sippin’ a martini, leanin’ back, thinkin’ ‘bout this one whore I met in Tangiers. Not her real name, course not, she called herself Amina. Cheeky bird, eyes like daggers, could charm a snake outta its skin. Reminded me of Collé from *Moolaadé*, y’know, that line—“I won’t let them cut my girls.” Fierce, mate, proper fierce. Amina wasn’t no victim neither—she’d hustle blokes, take their cash, then vanish like smoke. Once saw her nick a diplomat’s watch mid-shag—laughed my arse off!

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So, I’m feeling a bit defeated, but I push on. I decide to check out the St. Walburgis Church. It’s stunning, right? I walk in, and it’s all quiet and peaceful. I’m just soaking it in when this kid starts screaming. Like, why? Why now? I’m trying to have a moment here! I couldn’t help but chuckle, though. Kids, man.

The right to demonstrate is under threat, warns Dutch ombudsman