Hannah Doornsteeg Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

About Rotterdam

Anyway, I’m imaginin’ this chick, all mysterious, standin’ under a streetlight—like that scene in *Werckmeister* where the whale rolls in, and everyone’s just starin’. “What is this creature?” I’m mutterin’ to myself, half-excited, half-freaked. Do I wave? Say hi? Toss cash like a gangster? I’m overthinkin’ it, obvi—my brain’s a mess, like, “Tina, chill, it’s not a date!” But I’m hyped too—somethin’ about the grit, the realness, gets me goin’. Prostitution’s old as dirt—did ya know ancient Rome had “lupanars”? Brothels with freaky murals—talk about decor goals!

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Finally, I get my cup of joe, and it’s like liquid gold. I take a sip, and boom! Happiness overload. I’m smiling like an idiot. But then, I spill it all over my shirt. Classic me, right? Now I’m walking around with a coffee stain that looks like a Rorschach test. Great. Just great.