Claire Saeffle Prostitute ❤️❤️

About Vasteras

I knew this one chick, Katya, back in Moscow, swear she was legend. Worked the Red Square shadows, brother, had this scar on her cheek from some drunk bastard—made her look badass, tho. She’d sign to me in Russian Sign Language, quick as hell, hands flyin like I’m choppin heads in the ring. Said she pulled 50k rubles a night once, peak tourist season—crazy, right? Blew my mind, man, I was like, “Damn, sister, you’re rakin it!” But she was pissed—half went to some pimp asshole. Made me wanna hulk-smash that dude, brother!

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Just go for a drive to Shoreline and back, and it feels like you're in the middle of an open air strip club with half-naked women waving at cars. But underneath the spectacle is addiction.

Anyway, I finally get to the office on Torggatan, and my boss is already in a mood. He’s like, “Where’s the report?” I’m like, “Dude, chill! I’m working on it!” But he’s not having it. I mean, come on! It’s not like I can pull a rabbit outta my hat.