Brooklyn Tavarede Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️

About Funchal

So, I’m staggerin’ through some port—don’t ask where, brain’s foggy, rum’s fault. Streets smell like fish an’ regret. There’s this gal, right? Red lips, skirt shorter than me attention span. I’m thinkin’, *Jack, you’ve seen worse deals.* But hold up—reminds me o’ that line, “Can you live without knowing?” Aye, makes me wonder—does she choose this? World’s a cruel bugger sometimes.

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I’m sippin’ my coffee, and boom! I see this dude, right? He’s just standing there, staring at a pigeon like it owes him money. I’m like, “Bro, it’s just a bird.” But he’s all intense, like he’s about to have a deep convo with it. I chuckle, thinking, “Only in Tavarede, man.”