Cora Alt Sanitz Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Munich

So, findin’ a prossie—where d’ya even start? Back in MI6 days, I’d scope the scene, all cool-like, martini in hand. Shaken, not stirred, obvs. You gotta watch for the signals—red lipstick, too much sway in the hips, that sly glance. Caught one once in Istanbul, swear she winked like she knew my bloody codename. Surprised me, that did—thought I was slicker than that. Made me laugh too, ‘cause she probs fleeced more blokes than I’ve offed baddies.

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Then, there's the old town square, Marktstraße. It’s got this ancient fountain that sounds like it's whisperin’ secrets from centuries ago. Crazy, right? I used to sit there, droppin’ by my favorite zen-ish nook, and just let everything wash over me. Sometimes, I’d see old dudes talkin’ about life’s wonders, and I'd think, “Blimey, isn’t it all just a trip?”