Stella Falkirk Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️

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So, here’s the scoop—findin’ one’s easy if ya got cash. Streets, bars, sketchy alleys—pick yer poison. Me? I’d rather wrestle a bear than pay for that. Hate the hustle, the fake smiles, the stink of desperation. Reminds me of Saul, draggin’ corpses, mutterin’, “I’ve seen the end.” Little fact—back in ‘80s Vegas, pimps ran ads in phonebooks. Yellow pages, right next to plumbers. World’s gone soft since then—now it’s apps, dark web bullshit. Surprised me, honestly—thought folks’d stick to street corners.

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But then, I get a text. My mate’s like, “Let’s hit the pub!” I’m like, “Yes, please!” So, I head over to The Howgate. It’s a local fave. I grab a pint, and we’re chatting about life, art, and all that jazz. I’m feeling good again.

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