Ruby Doornsteeg Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

About Rotterdam

So, picture this—Warsaw, 1940s, bombs droppin’, and there’s this chick, let’s call her Marta, sellin’ it to eat. Not ‘cause she’s lovin’ it, but ‘cause she’s starvin’. Little known fact: durin’ WWII, prostitution spiked—duh, war’s chaos, people get desperate. Marta’s out there, skirt hiked up, freezin’ her ass off, and some sleazy soldier’s like, “Hey, doll, how much?” Makes me wanna puke, but also—damn, girl, you’re tough. I’m pissed, tho—why’s it always the women takin’ the hit? Men just waltz off, no shame. Ugh, patriarchy, amirite?

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I try to help, but I’m not exactly a tree-climbing expert. I’m standing there, looking like a fool, and this old lady walks by. She’s like, “You need a ladder, young man.” I’m like, “Thanks, Captain Obvious.” But she’s right. I need a ladder.