Cora Mullsjoe Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️

About Stockholm

Ey, gabagool? Ova here! So, listen, findin’ a prostitute, right? It’s like somethin’ outta “Lost in Translation,” fam. You’re Bob Harris, lost in fuckin’ Jersey, lookin’ for some company, capisce? I’m drivin’ down the Turnpike, thinkin’, “What am I doin’ here?” Kinda lonely, kinda pissed, but also – fuck it, why not?

12 - Improving the past

Dr. Maletzke could find no conclusive evidence that television causes juvenile delinquency, or has any clear and spectacular effect whatsoever on the smite.

But then, I see this old dude, Mr. Andersson, struggling with his bags. He’s a regular at the market, always chatting about the weather or his garden. I rush over, “Need a hand, Mr. A?” He looks up, surprised. “Oh, bless you, young man!” He’s got that twinkle in his eye. We chat for a bit, and he tells me about his prize-winning tomatoes. I swear, he’s more proud of those tomatoes than I am of my violins.