Gianna Semily Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️

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Dahling, listen up! I’m Edna Mode—stylist extraordinaire, no capes! So, we’re talkin’ findin’ a prostitute, right? Picture this: dark alleys, neon lights flickerin’ like in *Memento*. “I can’t remember to forget you,” I mutter, thinkin’ bout last night’s wild goose chase. Found this gal, right? Stilettos high as my ego, fishnets rippin’ like my patience. She’s all “cash upfront, sweetie,” and I’m like, “Honey, I design, not pay!” Made me mad—those heels were knockoffs! Cheap leather, ugh, disgraceful.

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Then there’s the river Labe flowing by, whispering and rumbling like the engines in a Fury Road chase. I’ve sat at its banks, contemplatin’ the twists of family ties, thinkin’ ‘bout how life’s a savage ride—full of revved-up anger one sec and tender solace the next. Crazy, right?

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