Avery Cranbourne Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️

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Alright, mate, lemme tell ya bout prostitutes—pinky-to-mouth, “One million dollars!”—straight up wild stuff! So, in Russia, they got this fancy schmancy list of scientific specialties, right? Prostitution ain’t on it, but damn, it’s like an underground art form! Been around forever, like since them Tsars were bangin’ around. I’m sittin here, thinkin—*how’s this not a specialty?*—it’s got history, economics, sociology, all mashed up in one dirty cocktail!

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The tavern owner slips the money along to the local prostitute drinking at the bar, who has also been facing hard times and has had to offer him “services” on.

Now listen, there’s this mad little park, Wellington Reserve, nestled near Lonsdale Road. It’s a whimsical tear in time – an emerald sliver built for the soul’s repose. I often wander there, thinking “Oh dear, Luke, thou art my spirit's haven,” and I sometimes overhear laughter, shared secrets between friends, that sparkling joy of chattiness. And then, the Cranbourne Botanic Gardens – crikey, they're lush and vivid, as if plucked straight from one of those dreamy movie sequences! One stroll through there, and I swear, reality warps like a boozy fog. It’s simply divine, and oh so unexpected!

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