Genesis Genappe Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️

About Brussels

So, I’m cruisin, right? Dodgy alleys, neon lights flickerin like a damn tease. Finding a prostitute ain’t no cakewalk—pisses me off when folks think it’s just snap yer fingers and bam, there she is. Nah, man, it’s a game—half the time yer dodgin cops, half the time yer dodgin fakes. Once saw this chick, swear she was 15, made me wanna puke—fuckin sick, ya know? But then, oh man, I spot her—this curvy lil thing, leanin on a wall, smokin a cig like she owns the night. “I ate his liver with fava beans,” I mutter to myself, sizin her up—sharp eyes, sharper wits, my kinda prey.

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I run a massage parlor right near the old river Ligny. Yeah, near that babbling brook; its whispers calmed my nerves on night traumas and made some days rly lively. Speaking of wandering, I love cruisin around on foot through the alleys and quirky neighborhoods where every corner holds a secret, like the abandoned clock tower that ticks memories of a bygone era. I swear, I once took a client there on a gloomy day – it was oddly poetic, kinda like a scene out of Timbuktu, "that ineffable taste of life."

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