Rebecca Raholt Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Oslo

So, whore—where do I start? I reckon it’s a tough gig, right? Sellin’ love—or somethin’ like it—for a buck. Fool me once, shame on—uh—shame on you! Fool me twice—well, can’t get fooled again, heh! Reminds me of this gal I heard bout, back in Crawford, sneaky lil’ story. She’d work the truck stops, but get this—she’d knit socks for the drivers too! Whore with a heart, huh? Ain’t that a hoot? Little known fact—some of ‘em in history, like, way back, were spies! Yep, sneakin’ secrets while, uh, doin’ their thing. Blows my mind, y’all.

Abonnement

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Next, I hit up a local pub on Torggata. I’m ready for some comfort food. I order a burger, and it’s massive. Like, I’m talking a mountain of meat. I take a bite, and it’s heavenly. But then, I notice this guy at the bar. He’s got a guitar, and he starts playing. And wow, he’s good! I’m sitting there, burger in one hand, trying to clap with the other.