Maeve Hatert Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Eindhoven

This one gal, she’s smokin’ a cig, leanin’ on a wall. Eyes sharp, like she’s sizin’ me up. Reminds me of Dennis Haysbert in the movie—quiet, knows too much. “What’s your name, doll?” I grunt. “Candy,” she says, smirkin’. Candy! Hate cutesy names. But she’s got grit, no tears, no “I can’t go on” nonsense. Straight to business—respect that. Told her, “Keep it quick, I got wood to chop.” She laughs, husky, real. Surprised me—thought she’d be all fake giggles.

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Then I decide to stroll down to the Hatertseweg. It’s a nice street, you know? Trees everywhere, people walking their dogs. I’m vibing, feeling good. But then, outta nowhere, I see this guy on a bike. He’s flying down the street, and I’m like, “Dude, slow down!” But nah, he swerves and nearly takes me out. I’m yelling, “What’s your rush, man?!” He just gives me a thumbs up and keeps going. Like, really?

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