Victoria Cot Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️

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Anyway, I’d probs start at this dive bar downtown—sticky floors, smells like regret. Perfect spot to find a prostitute. I’d be chill, sip a beer, scope the scene. Maybe some chick in fishnets winks at me, and I’m like, “Well, hello, darlin’!” Kinda thrilled, kinda freaked—heart’s racin’, palms sweaty. What if she’s a cop? Shit, that’d piss me off—bust my buzz real quick. Or worse, what if she’s got a pimp watchin’ me like I’m dessert? *“A lobby boy can’t be seen to falter!”*—I’d tell myself, keepin’ cool.

Countries of the world ordered by the price of prostitution

And ohhh, the smells! Sometimes I get mad at the aroma in Old Nook lane – stinky dumpsters, mixed with sweet bakery smells. Crazy, right? I remember one day, I strolled by, already in my coach mode, and BOOM, whiffed of cinnamon and diesel. So random, but that's Cot, I guess.

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