Isabella Djursholm Prostitute ❤️

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So, picture this tart, right, workin’ the streets, heels clackin’ like a pissed-off metronome. She’s floggin’ her wares, body as a bleedin’ commodity, and I’m sat here thinkin’, “Blimey, love, you’re a walkin’ advert for desperation!” Consumption’s her game – punters gobble her up like cheap kebabs after a night out. Supply, demand, all that bollocks. She’s a business, ain’t she? A one-woman shag factory. *Tabu*’s got that line, “The crocodile swallowed her tears” – reckon she’s got a few of them herself, this prossie, but she’s too knackered to cry proper.

Escorts in Djursholm

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Finally, she shows up, all flustered. Turns out, she got stuck behind some fancy car parade. Like, who even has a parade in Djursholm? I was half-expecting a royal to pop out. Anyway, we talked about her anxiety, and I tried to be all supportive. But inside, I was like, “Girl, I need a drink.”

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