Paisley Mullsjoe Prostitute ❤️❤️

About Orebro

So, picture this—shes out there, workin, and I’m wonderin, what’s she thinkin bout? Cash? Survival? Some john who stinks of cheap cologne? I heard once—little known fact—back in old Rome, prostitutes dyed their hair blonde to stand out, like some ancient neon sign. Wild, right? Makes me chuckle, thinkin she mighta been a blonde last night, who knows! I’m gettin happy imaginin her sass, tellin off some creep—bam, “Get lost, pal!”—but then I’m pissed, cause society’s judgin her, callin her trash. Hypocrites, man, all of em.

Prostitute

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First thing, I spill coffee all over my workbench. Like, come on! I need that caffeine fix, not a coffee bath for my chisels. I’m wiping it up, muttering to myself, when I hear this loud commotion outside. I peek out, and there’s a bunch of kids playing soccer in the street. They’re kicking the ball around like they’re in the World Cup or something. I can’t help but smile. Kids have that magic, right?