Audrey Ask Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Oslo

I’m strollin, boots clickin, thinkin—where’s the talent at? Then bam—this bird struts up, all sass, skirt shorter than a dwarf’s temper. “You lost, luv?” she goes, smirkin like she knows I’m a sucker for trouble. “Ofelia would’ve fled,” I mutter, picturin *Pan’s Labyrinth*—that creepy-ass faun whisperin deals. But me? I’m in, mate—glorious purpose an’ all. She’s quotin prices like it’s a bloody auction—50 quid for this, 80 for that. I’m like, “Lass, I’m a god, not a bank!” Made me ragey, but also—damn, she’s bold, gotta respect the hustle.

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After that drama, I head to the market on Marktstraat. I’m lookin’ for some accessories to spice up my next client’s look. The vibe is chill, but the prices? Not so much. I see this cute necklace, but it’s like 50 euros. I’m like, “Nah, I can’t pay that much for a piece of metal.” So, I haggle like a pro. “How about 30?” The vendor rolls his eyes, but I’m persistent. We settle at 40. Win!

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