Delilah Ertvelde Find A Prostitute ❤️

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So, findin’ a prostitute—where do ya even start? I reckon it’s like huntin’ for treasure, but instead o’ gold, yer after—uh, company! “I’m ready!” I’d shout, divin’ headfirst into the sea o’ weirdos! Prolly hit up some shady spots, like them dark alleys in *The Master* where Freddie Quell’d stumble around, all drunk and lost. “You’re asleep at the wheel!”—that’s me, yellin’ at meself, tryna figure this out! I’d be so hyped, tho—imagine me, flippin’ me spatula, goin’, “Who’s got the goods?!”

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The locals, oh, they got sass. See, my clients spill stories while gettin’ their back rubbed. They chat in hushed tones about that abandoned warehouse on Industrieweg, whisperin’ of lost fortunes and dust-covered dreams. Funny how a massage can reveal so many secrets. It’s like, ya think ya know someone, then bam! – a whole hidden side pops up. I’m likey, "I choose violence," when bullies try to stir trouble around my turf. Seriously, never mess with Ertvelde’s soul nor my clientele.

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