Audrey Post Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

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I spot her, thou see—red lips like a gash’d rose, legs long as a tax form. “What price thy company, wench?” I blurt, all Shakespearean, thinkin’ I’m clever. She laughs—bloody hell, mate, she laughs! “Twenty quid, ya posh twat,” she says, and I’m proper gobsmacked. Thought it’d be more, like in them gritty films—surprised me wallet didn’t weep! “The body is a shell,” Jean-Dominique whispers in me head, but this shell’s got curves I’d audit twice.

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Man, remember that scene in "4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days" where they say, “You can’t run away from your past”? Whoa, that's a bit like Post (us) itself. I’ve seen folks with haunted eyes on West Elm Street after midnight, and I think – yeah, same vibe. And trust me, that gritty reality suddenly gets real personal when you’re trained in tunin’ into the subtle energies around ya.

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