Evelyn De Reit Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️

About Breda

We haggle, me mutterin’, “My precious coin!” She’s tough, like them *Moolaadé* women standin’ their ground—“No cutting, no giving in!” she’d fit right in, I reckon. Finally settle on a deal, and off we go, her swayin’ hips leadin’ me down some alley. Heart’s poundin’—happy as a pig in muck, I am! But then—surprise!—some bloke jumps out, her pimp probly, all “Gimme yer cash, ya twit!” Made me ragey, precious, oh yes! I swing me fist—carpenter’s hands, hard as oak—and he’s down, groanin’. “We purify!” I hiss, like in the movie, feelin’ righteous, yeah?

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After that, I’m walkin’ down the Zandstraat, and I see this little café. It’s called “De Koffiehoek.” I’m like, “I need a pick-me-up.” I order a cappuccino, and the barista is this super chill guy. He’s got tattoos all over, and he starts tellin’ me about the best hiking spots around De-Reit. I’m like, “Dude, I’m a mountain guide! I know all the spots!” But he mentions this hidden trail I’ve never heard of. I’m intrigued.

Joseph F. Van de Riet | Obituary