Olivia Nemencine Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Alytus

Oi, mate, listen up, yeah? It’s me, Bond, James Bond—suave as ever, “shaken, not stirred.” So, you wanna know ‘bout finding a prossie, eh? Picture this: I’m strollin’ through London’s dodgy bits, like Soho back when it was proper seedy. Dark alleys, neon flickerin’, smells like cheap perfume and regret. Reminds me of *Shame*—you seen it? That flick’s raw, mate. Brandon’s out there, chasin’ tail, livin’ like he’s got no soul left. “I find you disgusting,” his sister says, but he’s too deep in the game. That’s the vibe—desperate, messy, human.

References:

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On my way, I pass by the park. It’s so pretty, with all those trees and flowers. I stop for a sec, take a deep breath, and think, “This is why I love Nemencine.” But then, I see a group of teenagers blasting music. Like, come on! Can’t a person enjoy nature in peace?

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