Layla Westervoort Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Utrecht

Sometimes I wonder—whores see us clearer than we see ourselves. They’re like, “I know your secrets, pet.” Creeps me out, but I dig it. Kinda jealous, too—wish I could read mortals that easy. Maybe I do, heh, ‘cept I’m too busy bein’ a glorious bastard. Anyway, whores? They’re the real deal—gritty, raw, no fucks given. Next time you see one, tip your hat. They’re the unsung queens, mate— “Their steps echo through history.” Straight outta *The Assassin*, that. Oi, now I’m ramblin’—typical me! Whores, tho—fuckin’ ace, end of story.

Prostitutes Westervoort

Anyway, I drag myself to the bakery on De Laarstraat. It’s still dark outside, and I’m half asleep. I open the door, and BAM! The smell of fresh bread hits me. It’s like a warm hug. I start mixing dough, and I’m vibin’. But then, my mixer decides to throw a tantrum. Seriously, it starts making this weird noise. I’m like, “C’mon, not today!”

Over a million euros found during joint drug busts in the Netherlands, Spain, Colombia