Anastasia Grou Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️

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But then—THEN—I spot her, leanin’ on a lamppost, all sass and red lipstick. “Why is the rum gone?” I mutter, ‘cause I’m parched and she’s trouble. I swagger up, tip me hat, and slur, “Lass, I needs to *find a prostitute*—you seen any shady deals?” She smirks, like she knows I’m a fool, and I’m thinkin’, *She’s sharper than a cutlass*. “What’s in it fer me, Cap’n?” she says, and I’m fumin’—cheeky wench! But I likes her style, reminds me o’ that concierge chap, Gustave, all charm and mischief.

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First off, I head to the market on de Witte Dijk. I’m thinking, “Let’s grab some fresh veggies for my lunch.” But nah, the market’s packed! Like, where did all these people come from? I swear, it’s like a sardine can. I’m dodging strollers and old folks with their walkers. I finally snag some tomatoes, but then I spill my coffee all over my new apron. Great start, right?

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