Lila Meerssen Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

About Rotterdam

Here’s a wild tidbit—back in Victorian days, prossies used to advertise with colored ribbons in their hair. Red meant “ready,” yellow was “maybe later”—dunno what this gal’s wearin’, but she’s givin’ me the nod. I’m chuffed, yeah, happy as a pig in mud, but then—bam!—some greasy git tries to jack her earnings. Made me furious, I tell ya! I slam my staff down, roar, “You shall not pass!” and he bolts like a scared mutt. She laughs, calls me “old man”—cheeky cow, I love it.

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But hey, I laugh it off. I get up, dust myself off, and keep going. I mean, you gotta roll with the punches, right? So, I’m back at it, and I spot this little café on the corner of Hoofdstraat. The smell of fresh pastries hits me like a freight train. I can’t resist. I grab a slice of apple pie that’s bigger than my face. No regrets, man.

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