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About Oradea

Last week, right, I’m in a tavern, tankard in hand, scopin’ the room. This bird—red lips, skirts hiked up—winks at me. I’m thinkin’, “Tyrion, you clever bastard, she’s yours.” But nah, she’s got a pimp, uglier than Gregor Clegane, breath like a latrine. Pissed me off—why’s everythin’ gotta be so complicated? “Be quiet and do what I say,” she whispers, like I’m some green boy. Cheeky cow! I’m the Imp, I know tricks she ain’t dreamed of. Paid her double just to shut her gob and get on with it. Felt good, though—coin well spent.

Prostitutes Near Me

So, I wake up, right? Sun’s shining, birds are chirping. I’m like, “Today’s gonna be chill.” Ha! Little did I know. I grab my coffee from that tiny place on Strada Principală. Best espresso in town, no joke. I’m talking rocket fuel.