Gianna Knocklyon Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️

About Dublin

I’m ramblin’, aye, but it’s like Disgust in *Inside Out*— “This is NOT acceptable!”—when ya get a lass who don’t know her trade. Mate, if I’m payin’, I want skill, not some half-arsed fumble! Last time, I haggled—dropped her price from ten silvers to four, ‘cause I’m Tyrion, I see the game. “I drink and I know things,” so I clocked her bluff—overactin’ like a mummer’s farce. Pro tip: watch their hands, twitchy fingers mean they’re pickpockets!

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There is a full building in Knocklyon in which all of them are Not more prostitution you just find out about it more. Australian.

Around lunchtime, things got wild. I’m munching on my sandwich when I get a call from a woman on Firhouse Road. She’s crying! Like, full-on sobbing. I’m panicking, thinking something terrible happened. Turns out, she just burnt her dinner. I’m like, “Girl, it’s just a lasagna!” But she’s convinced it’s the end of her culinary career. I tell her to order a takeaway. Problem solved!

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