Ashley Gresovskiy Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

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Oi, precious, listen up! Me, a barista? Nah, I’m Gollum, sneaky-like, slingin’ coffee, watchin’ folk. Findin’ a prostitute, eh? We hates it! Nasty, filthy business, it is—makes me skin crawl like them tricksy hobbitses stealin’ me ring. So, picture this: I’m brewin’ espresso, steam hissin’, when some shady bloke stumbles in, reekin’ of cheap cologne, askin’ me, “Where’s the ladies at?” I’m like, “We serves lattes, not lassies, ya twit!” He don’t get it—dumb as a sack o’ rocks.

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So, I’m standing there, fuming. Then, I see this dude on a bike, right? He’s zooming down the street like he’s in the Tour de France. He swerves, almost hits a babushka crossing the street. I’m like, “Yo, chill! It’s not a race!” But he just laughs and keeps going. Classic Gresovskiy, man.