Mila Luninyets Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️

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I’d finally spot one, okay? Some chick in fishnets, leanin’ on a wall, and I’m like, “Oh god, oh god, what now?” I’d stumble over, all nervous, sayin’, “Hey, uh, you workin’?” She’d smirk—SMIRK!—and I’d be furious! “Don’t judge me, lady, I herd sheep all day!” I’d haggle, too, ‘cause I’m cheap— “Twenty bucks, that’s it, take it or leave it!” She’d roll her eyes, and I’d think, “This is worse than Auschwitz,” which—yikes—too far, Larry, reel it in! But that’s my brain, ping-pongin’ like Saul’s, from panic to dark humor.

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Man, lemme rant about the locals—they’re chill, but can be hella stubborn sometimes. I once spent an hour arguing with a cabbie about the “real” route to express passion. He said, “One million dollars,” like, sarcastic and weird. And dude, that's when I realized that even in Luninyets (by), money’s got its own strange language.