Isabelle Surahammar Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Malmo

So yeah, findin’ a prostitute? Easy, sorta—look in the cracks, alleys, dive spots. Pissed me off, tho—society’s fucked, lettin’ this be normal! Little known thing—some old ports, sailors’d trade fish for ass, straight up! Hilarious, yet grim—fish or credits, same diff. “Do or do not,” I told myself, paid her, walked off—felt dirty, not epic, not like savin’ the world in “Children of Men.” Just another night, butchered hope, sliced dreams—fuck it, I’m out!

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So, I hit the streets, right? I’m walking down Storgatan, and it’s like, where’s everyone? It’s a ghost town! I mean, c’mon, Surahammar, wake up! I needed coffee, like, yesterday. Finally found a café on the corner of Storgatan and Kungsbacken. The barista was super chill, but the coffee? Ugh, tasted like burnt rubber. I was like, “Dude, did you forget the beans?” He just laughed. I was not amused.

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