Abigail Angelslo Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Groningen

So, findin’ a prossie—where d’ya even start? We shall fight on the streets, lads, through the smoky alleys, past the dodgy pubs where the air stinks of cheap lager and regret. I reckon it’s a war, yeah? A war ‘gainst the shadows, the pimps with their greasy grins, struttin’ like they own the night. Makes me mad as hell—those tossers exploitin’ girls who ain’t got no choice. Reminds me of the Corsican in *A Prophet*, pullin’ strings, thinkin’ he’s king. “I’m the boss here,” he’d growl. Bollocks to that, I say.

La Merced Market

I sprint down the Laan van de Kruideniers, dodging people like I’m in some kind of obstacle course. I’m almost there when I see a street performer. He’s playing the accordion, and honestly, it’s kinda catchy. I stop for a sec, toss him a euro, and then keep running. I mean, priorities, right?

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