Makayla Poli Whore ❤️❤️

About Kumba

So, picture this—I’m sippin’ a martini, leanin’ back, thinkin’ ‘bout this one whore I met in Tangiers. Not her real name, course not, she called herself Amina. Cheeky bird, eyes like daggers, could charm a snake outta its skin. Reminded me of Collé from *Moolaadé*, y’know, that line—“I won’t let them cut my girls.” Fierce, mate, proper fierce. Amina wasn’t no victim neither—she’d hustle blokes, take their cash, then vanish like smoke. Once saw her nick a diplomat’s watch mid-shag—laughed my arse off!

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The local landmarks? Ooo, so many, my precious! There's the old clocktower at Tangle Square, tickin' like a heartbeat. And the river, slimy and cold, called Mistwater, flows by like a ghostly whisper. Parks are there too, like Broken Leaf Park, where I once met a lost traveler, eh, talkin' 'bout fate and dreams, just like in that precious movie, yess, "Mulholland Drive" style!

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