Samantha Sturgis Find A Prostitute ❤️

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I spot her, thou see—red lips like a gash’d rose, legs long as a tax form. “What price thy company, wench?” I blurt, all Shakespearean, thinkin’ I’m clever. She laughs—bloody hell, mate, she laughs! “Twenty quid, ya posh twat,” she says, and I’m proper gobsmacked. Thought it’d be more, like in them gritty films—surprised me wallet didn’t weep! “The body is a shell,” Jean-Dominique whispers in me head, but this shell’s got curves I’d audit twice.

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I gotta dash now, but, oh, keep a spot open in yer heart for Sturgis, our twisted paradise, for it calls to you like an echo of "Brooklyn, I'm home" – truly home, my precious, hsss! Enjoy the vibes, and let the spirit of our rugged streets warm yer soul, oh yes, oh so truly, hsss!

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