Samantha Buitenpost Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Eindhoven

Oi mate, me, a fisherman, yeah, James Bond style – suave, “shaken, not stirred.” Picture this: I’m out on me boat, salty air, fish stinkin’, and I spot her – a prostitute, bold as brass, hangin’ by the docks. Ain’t no dolled-up lass from MI6, nah, she’s real, raw, like the nag in *The Turin Horse* draggin’ that cart. “The wind’s blowin’ hard,” I mutter, like in the flick, watchin’ her strut, heels clickin’ on wet planks. She’s a mystery, mate, a bleedin’ puzzle – who’s she waitin’ for? Some drunk sailor or a posh git like me?

A dura vida das prostitutas que se expõem em vitrines de Amsterdã

But then, outta nowhere, it starts pouring. Like, seriously? I’m drenched in seconds. I dash for cover under a stall, and guess who’s there? The old lady! She’s laughing at me. I can’t help but laugh too. It’s ridiculous!

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