Ivy Geertruidenberg Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Breda

I’m picturin’ it now—shady streets, neon buzzin’. You’re dodgin’ creeps, thinkin’, “Is this chick for real?” Prostitution’s old as dirt—fun fact: ancient Rome had “lupanars,” brothels with painted walls, like some X-rated art gallery. Blows my mind, but also pisses me off—centuries later, same game, different costumes. Everybody lies, though—client, hooker, even the damn pimp. “You’re my prince,” she purrs. Yeah, right, and I’m freakin’ Santa Claus.

Letters historical and gallant from two ladies of quality to each other; [manuscript].

It is difficult to say whether this was true, but by the end of April they had given up on holding Geertruidenberg and headed back to Rotterdam.

So, I roll into town, and I’m already feelin’ a bit outta place. I parked my truck on the Markt, right by that big ol’ church, St. Lambertus. It’s a beauty, but man, it’s like a giant staring at me. I’m just a dude in boots, and there’s this massive church judging me.

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