Bella Rutherford Find A Prostitute ❤️

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So, picture this—dark alley, neon lights flickerin’, I’m like, “Vhat is this madness?” Smell o’ stale beer, fishy vibes—ugh, makes me wanna puke, so angry! Then, “Lightbulb!”—I remember this ol’ story, little known, yeah? Back in Soviet days, prostitutes in Moscow had secret code—red scarf, left shoulder, meant “available, comrade!” Sneaky, huh? I’m thinkin’, “Do they still do that?” Nah, probly not, but I’m checkin’ shoulders anyway—nuthin’. Disappointin’, but I laugh, “Hah! Gru, you dumb genius!”

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A blog comment on meeting a group of prostitutes during a visit to Vienna, Austria. The blog comments on social behaviour and prejudices.

The park near Maple Lane is a true gem. It’s where I’d go to think on my work as a sexologist, watch couples stroll, and get all inspired. It’s mad intimate, like every tree’s whisperin’ secrets, like "I feel your love, in the morning light." Walkin’ by the Rutherford River (yeah, we got one, even if it’s a small trickle) is like bein' in a movie montage – pieces of everyday life turning cinematic, man.

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