Charlotte Fetsund Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Tromso

So I’m watchin’ her, tailin’ her, cause somethin’s off—gut screamin’ at me. She’s got this walk, y’know, hips swayin’ like she owns the damn sidewalk. Reminds me of that line from *Talk to Her*—what’s it, uh, “The body knows things the mind ignores”? Yeah, that’s her! Body tellin’ a whole damn novel while her mouth’s spittin’ lies. I’m pissed, right? Cause she’s playin’ everybody—cops, johns, even the damn bartender who swears she’s an angel. Angel! Hah! Angel with a rap sheet longer than my ex-wife’s grudge list.

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First off, I’m walkin’ down Fetsundgata, right? It’s a pretty street, lined with those cute lil’ houses. I’m just mindin’ my own biz when I see this dude, like, totally trippin’ over his own feet. I mean, c’mon, it’s not that hard to walk! He spills his coffee all over himself. I couldn’t help but laugh. Like, bro, you need a map for your feet or what?

In Norway, bottles made of plastic are still fantastic