Mila Zabkowice Slaskie Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

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Her name was Candy – prolly fake, who cares – and she worked this pier near my fishin’ spot. Skinny chick, big hair, smelled like cheap perfume and regret. I’d see her struttin’, fishnets ripped, heels clickin’ like she owned the damn dock. “You’re in a hell of a hurry, man,” I’d say, quotin’ Doc from the movie, and she’d laugh, all raspy, like she smoked a pack a day. Made me happy, that laugh – real, y’know? Not some fake-ass giggle.

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I decide to head back to the office on ul. Kościuszki. I’m thinking, “Okay, let’s wrap this day up.” But of course, the tram is late. I’m standing there, checking my watch, feeling like I’m in some kind of time warp. I swear, if I had a zloty for every time the tram was late, I’d be rich.

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