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But real talk – it ain’t all giggles. Some of these girls, they’re trapped, ya feel me? Pisses me off seein’ pimps actin’ like they own ‘em. Had me yellin’ at the TV once, “Know your role, scumbag!” – wish I could lay the smackdown on ‘em, Rock-style. Then there’s the flip – some choose it, stackin’ cash, runnin’ their own show. That surprised me, dude! Like, respect the hustle! Reminds me of Toni’s Ines, all buttoned-up but screamin’ inside – prostitutes got layers too, man.

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Murray Bodo Sort By Genre. Poetry; Back to Author Index Poetry St. Francis and the Damietta Prostitute Issue no. Summer He comes to Egypt with the Crusaders. Of all the men .

First off, I grab my coffee from that little café on Storgata. You know the one? The one with the weird art on the walls? Yeah, that place. I’m sippin’ my brew, and suddenly, I hear this loud crash outside. I rush out, and there’s a car accident right on the corner of Rådhusgata. Like, c’mon, people! It’s a straight road!

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