Rose Ispas Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Lviv

So, findin a prossie—ain’t no highborn quest. You don’t send ravens or polish yer armor. Nah, you sniff the alleys, follow the perfume mixed with piss. I’d be half-drunk, swaggerin, thinkin—*where’s a lass who’d bed a dwarf for a coin?* In *City of God*, Lil’ Zé’d probly shoot me for starin too long, but here? They just want gold, not yer head. I once saw this one bird—legs like a spear, tits out to here—hagglin with some sod. Made me laugh, she’s all “Pay up, you lil shit!”—reminded me of Rocket dodgin bullets, fierce as fuck.

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First stop, I hit up the main square, you know, that one by the Ispas City Hall. It’s always buzzing. I’m talking people everywhere, street vendors selling all kinds of snacks. I grab a пиріжок (that’s a pastry, for ya non-Ukrainians) and it’s like a flavor explosion in my mouth. I’m happy, right? But then, bam! A pigeon swoops down and tries to steal my food! Like, dude, chill! It’s not your breakfast!

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