Emilia Tregunc Prostitute ❤️

About Marseille

But lemme tell ya, Ruby’s got grit. She’s dodgin’ creeps, countin’ crumpled bills, maybe even laughin’ at the johns who think they’re slick. I heard this wild tale once—some hooker in Paris, 1800s, kept a diary. Scribbled how she’d charm rich dudes, then nick their pocket watches. A real watchmaker’s nightmare, ha! She’d sell ‘em, buy herself wine, live a lil. That’s Ruby too, I bet—sly, survivin’. “There’s somethin’ here we can’t see,” like Haneke whispers in that movie. Secrets in her smirk.

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But then, outta nowhere, it starts rainin’. Like, seriously? I’m soaked in seconds. I’m laughin’ and cursing at the sky. “Really, Tregunc? You had to do me like that?” But I don’t care. I’m dancin’ in the rain, guitar in hand, just livin’ my best life.