Claire Schellenberg Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Ruggell

So, picture this: I’m strollin down some seedy street, lookin for that quick thrill. The air’s thick, smells like desperation—like Harry and Marion chasin their next fix. I spot her, leanin on a lamppost, all sass and shadow. “I’m not gonna lose my arm!” she snaps when I ask if she’s clean. Ha! Made me chuckle—girl’s got spunk. I like that. Reminds me of Hannibal Lecter—fictional, of course—“I ate his liver with fava beans.” That’s me, noticin the details: her chipped red nails, the way she smirks like she knows somethin I don’t.

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When I get there, the stone’s gone! I’m like, “No way!” I start asking around, and this kid points to a group of teenagers. They’re using it as a frisbee! I’m fuming, but I can’t help but laugh at the absurdity. I march over, and they’re like, “What’s this?” I’m like, “That’s my livelihood, you punks!” They just look at me, wide-eyed.

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