Mila Winterswijk Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

About Rotterdam

Alright, listen up, ya horny bastards—sex-dating’s a freakin’ mess, ain’t it? I’m sittin’ here, thinkin’ bout it, and it’s like, everybody lies, right? Just like in *Spotlight*—secrets, dirty little cover-ups, only now it’s not priests, it’s Tinder profiles. You swipe, you match, you think, “Oh, jackpot!” Nah, pal, it’s a scam half the time. Catfish city. Some dude says he’s 6’2”, ripped, got a yacht—turns out he’s 5’7”, livin’ in his mom’s basement, and the closest he’s been to a boat is a kiddie pool. “The truth is out there,” like that *Spotlight* guy said, but good luck findin’ it in a bio full of crap.

Winterswijk

Last week, I went looking for prostitutes. Dead ones. Found them too. Now that I have your attention, let me explain how this came about.

So, we load up the van with all this glass. I’m talkin’ heavy stuff, like my ex’s baggage. We drive over to the church, and I’m sweating bullets. The church is this stunning old building, but the scaffolding? It’s like a death trap. I’m up there, heart racing, and I’m thinkin’, “If I fall, I’m gonna be a meme.”

Winterswijk 2022