Lucy Vaestervik Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

About Malmo

Oi, mate, findin’ a prossie, eh? What a bleedin’ mission! Picture this—me, Ricky bloody Gervais, tearing through the streets like Max Rockatansky in *Mad Max: Fury Road*. “I live, I die, I live again!”—except it’s me huntin’ for a tart instead of guzzling guzzoline. You’d think it’s easy, right? Nah, it’s a right palaver! Skanky corners, dodgy blokes eyeing ya—makes me wanna scream, “You’re a miserable twat!” to the whole lot.

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I sprint back, grab the dough, and haul it over to Lars. The guy’s got a killer view of the harbor, by the way. I mean, who wouldn’t wanna bake with a view of the Baltic Sea? Anyway, I’m there, sweating like a pig, and I can’t help but think, “Why do I do this to myself?” But then, the smell of cinnamon fills the air, and I’m like, “Oh yeah, this is why!”

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