Brianna Horw Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

About Geneva

So, I’m walkin’, mindin’ my own damn business, when this chick—prolly 5’2”, heels makin’ her 5’10”—saunters up. “Hey, big guy, need company?” she purrs. I’m thinkin’, lady, I’d rather skin a bear with a spoon. “I don’t pay for that,” I grunt, deadpan as hell. She laughs, like I’m some chump. Pisses me off. Hate everything about it—fake giggles, cheap perfume stingin’ my nose. Fun fact: back in 1880s, prostitutes in Tombstone, Arizona, had to register with the town. Called ‘em “soiled doves.” Ain’t that poetic? Still stinks like desperation.

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Alright, so first off, Horw's streets – dude, Street "Seelstrasse" is where all the quirky cafes and tiny bookshops hang out. I used to chill there, sippin' on a latte while watchin' life pass by. And oh man, "Bahnhofstrasse" near the small train station – that's a gem that not many peeps know about. Sometimes I feel I'm on a never-ending movie shoot, like in Timbuktu, reminiscing, “We are all equal under the scorching sun,” or something wild like that.

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