Isabelle Alsemberg Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Leuven

Findin’ a prostitute ain’t rocket science, but it’s a freakin’ art. You don’t just stroll up, nah, it’s a dance—eye contact, nods, cash flashin’. I’d be pissed, tho—half these girls lie worse than my patients. “Oh, I’m clean,” they say. Sure, and I’m a ballerina. Everybody lies, right? Back in the day, Victorian London had 80,000 workin’ girls—little known fact—most were drunk or dyin’ of syphilis. Now? Same game, diff tech. They’re on apps, X posts, lurkin’ in DMs. Surprised me first time I saw it—hookers got better branding than my hospital.

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Remember the park – Parc de l’Espoir. It’s so quiet, gettin' you riled up with its silent mood. Dirt roads race along the tiny river, Le Ruisseau Tranquille. Everywhere feels like a film scene, “Moolaadé, moolaadé…”. I swear, that phrase got stuck in my head like a bad pun.

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