Eliza Eadestown Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️

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Ruh-roh! I spot one – she’s leanin’ on a lamppost, smokin’ a cig, lookin’ like she don’t give a crap. “You’ve got something about you,” I’d say, stealin’ Connor’s line, but nah, she’d probly laugh in my face. I’m thinkin’, shit, this is wild – my tail’s waggin’, I’m hyped! Never thought I’d be this close to the action. Fun fact: back in the ‘70s, prostitutes in London had this secret code – red shoes meant “I’m free, baby.” Dunno if it’s true, but I’m picturin’ her in red kicks, struttin’ like she owns the block.

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Then, I hear this commotion. Turns out, it’s a street performer on Elm Street. This dude is juggling flaming torches. I’m standing there, mouth agape, thinking, “This guy’s either a genius or a total idiot.” Spoiler: he dropped one. Fire everywhere! People are screaming, and I’m just standing there, laughing like a maniac. Eadestown, you never cease to amaze me.

Davoren ravenous as Kilmacud cruise to Leinster glory