Aria Merenwijk Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Amsterdam

Now, I ain’t judgin’—live and let live, yeah? But it’s fascinatin’, like observin’ a pride of lions. There’s a code, unwritten, ancient. You don’t just stroll up like some daft tourist. Gotta read the room, or you’re done for. I heard this story once—bloke thought he could haggle like it’s a market stall. Ended up with a black eye and no wallet. True story! Makes me chuckle, but also, ouch, mate, respect the hustle. These ladies, they’re queens of their domain, got more guts than half the suits in the city.

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After that, I’m back to work, and I’m finally getting into the groove. I’m mixing some resin, and it’s like, perfect. I’m feeling like a rockstar. Then, my phone buzzes. It’s my buddy, Sam. He’s like, “Dude, you gotta come to the market on de Korte Dijk after work!” I’m like, “Yeah, sure, if I survive this day.”

Finally signing the Sweat Room wall