Isabella Ely Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

About Glasgow

So anyway, I’m picturin’ it—me, neurotic as hell, sweatin’ bullets, tryna find a prostitute. Maybe I’d hit up the web—X posts, sketchy links, the works. “Who’s got the goods?” I’d mutter, scrollin’ like a maniac. Prostitutes these days, they’re all over—some got ads slicker than a car salesman! Makes me laugh, like, “Pretty, pretty good hustle!” But then I’d get paranoid—cops? Scams? “I’m gonna die!” I’d yelp, channelin’ Malik’s prison panic. “The ghosts are comin’!”—another “A Prophet” gem. I’d be jumpin’ at shadows, swearin’ the Yakuza’s tailin’ me.

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But then, outta nowhere, it started to rain! Like, seriously? I was like, “Ely, what’s your deal?” I ducked into a shop on High Street, and guess what? They had the cutest little science-themed mugs! I couldn’t resist. I bought one, and it made me happy again.

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