Hannah Deeside Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

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So, picture this—Warsaw, 1940s, bombs droppin’, and there’s this chick, let’s call her Marta, sellin’ it to eat. Not ‘cause she’s lovin’ it, but ‘cause she’s starvin’. Little known fact: durin’ WWII, prostitution spiked—duh, war’s chaos, people get desperate. Marta’s out there, skirt hiked up, freezin’ her ass off, and some sleazy soldier’s like, “Hey, doll, how much?” Makes me wanna puke, but also—damn, girl, you’re tough. I’m pissed, tho—why’s it always the women takin’ the hit? Men just waltz off, no shame. Ugh, patriarchy, amirite?

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First off, I spilled my coffee all over my favorite shirt. Classic me, right? I mean, who needs a clean shirt when you’ve got a busy day ahead? Anyway, I rushed out the door, late as usual. Traffic on the A550 was a nightmare. I swear, I could’ve walked faster. I was stuck behind this ancient bus on Station Road. Like, come on, mate, it’s not a Sunday drive!

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