Freya Veenendaal Prostitute ❤️❤️

About Breda

Man, I seen this one chick, right? Downtown, heels clickin’, eyes sharp like a hawk. She’s out there, dodgin’ cops, makin’ moves. Reminds me of that line, “You’re my everything, my air.” She’s breathin’ that hustle, livin’ it. But damn, it’s heavy—some pimp probably takin’ her cash, beatin’ her down. Makes me wanna punch somethin’, fo’ real. Ain’t fair, but that’s the game, ya dig?

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But then, I notice the sky getting dark. Like, really dark. I’m thinking, “No way, not more rain!” And boom, it starts pouring. I’m sprinting for cover, laughing at the absurdity of it all. I duck into a shop on the Veenendaal’s main street, and it’s packed. Everyone’s crammed in there, and I’m just standing in the corner, soaking wet, feeling like a drowned rat.

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