Anna Hengelo Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Groningen

Findin a prostitute ain’t no picnic, tho. Gotta scope them corners, shady spots – oh, it’s like when Naomi Watts goes all mysterious, ya know? “What’s your name, sugar?” I’d ask, nasal as hell, twirlin my blue hair. Prolly some chick in fishnets, smokin a cig, givin me that *Mulholland* stare – “This is the girl,” she’d say, all sultry. Ha! I’d be like, “Girl, you need a makeover, stat!”

Wie mogen we bedanken?

But then, the day takes a turn. We’re walking past the old church on the Grotestraat, and I see this guy yelling at his girlfriend. Like, full-on shouting. It’s awkward, and I’m just trying to mind my own business. But then, she starts crying. Ugh, my heart sinks. I hate seeing people upset. Jeroen and I exchange glances, and I’m like, “Let’s get outta here.”

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