Charlotte Sete Prostitute ❤️

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So, picture this: a gal, let’s call her Ruby, struttin’ down some dim alley. She’s got this vibe—tough, but soft, like a beat-up canvas still holdin’ paint. I saw one once, swear it, near a dive bar—fishnets ripped, smokin’ a cig like it’s her last. Made me sad, y’know? “What d’ya want from me?” she mighta said, straight outta “Caché,” all suspicious-like. Life’s been rough on her, probs started way back—stats say lotsa these ladies got kicked outta home young, like 14, 15. Ain’t that a punch in the gut? Pisses me off—where’s the happy clouds for them?

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IN LOVE WITH THE PROSTITUTE: 7 “Do you want me to go down and bring her in.” Benson asked and Ryan raised his hand, signaling him to stop.

So, I’m fuming now, right? I decide to walk it off. I head over to the Canal Royal. It’s beautiful, with all those colorful houses lining the water. I’m trying to chill, but I can’t shake off that stupid bird. I sit on a bench, and this guy next to me starts talking about the best spots for seafood. He’s raving about the tielle, this local dish. I’m like, “Dude, I just lost my breakfast to a feathered thief!”

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