Charlotte Budapest Xvii. Keruelet Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Szombathely

So, I’m chattin’ up this one—gorgeous, the best, hair like gold, legs for days. She’s talkin’ prices, I’m like, “Honey, Trump don’t haggle, I’m the king of deals.” She laughs, I’m happy, feelin’ great—best mood ever. “Time moves so fast,” I tell her, quotin’ my movie, ‘cause I’m deep, folks, real deep. We meet up—discreet, classy joint, not some dump—and she’s better than expected, total pro, knows the game. Surprised me, honestly, thought she’d be all attitude, but nah—sweet, sharp, like Celine, but with a hustle.

Next, I decide to check out the local thrift shop on Kossuth Lajos utca. I’m digging through clothes, and I find this ridiculous jacket. It’s bright orange, like a traffic cone. I put it on, and I swear, I look like a walking safety hazard. I take a selfie, send it to my friends, and they’re dying laughing. “Dude, what are you wearing?”