Delilah Tongerlo Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Ghent

Oi mate, it’s me, Bond—James Bond, suave as fuck, “shaken, not stirred.” So, I’m a carpenter now, yeah? Hammerin’ nails, sawin’ wood, all that jazz. But let’s talk real shit—findin’ a prostitute. Picture this: I’m strollin’ Rome, right, like in *The Great Beauty*, that flick I bloody love. “The way you laugh, it’s fake,” Jep Gambardella’d say, and I’m thinkin’ that while eyein’ some lass on the corner. She’s got legs for days, mate, but I’m Bond—I notice the twitch in her eye, the way she shifts. Tells me she’s new, probs scared shitless.

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One time, I was walkin’ by the old Tongerlo Library on Boulevard des Espoirs (hope, y’all!) and bumped into an elderly lady readin’ poetry. I told her, “You internet my heart, darlin'!” And she just giggled like, "L'amour, c'est magique!" Reminded me of Amélie's whimsical lines, ya know? It’s like every corner here sings a little tune from that movie.

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