Katherine Raufoss Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

About Fredrikstad

So I’m out, prowlin’, eyes sharp—my precious!—and there’s this spot, yeah? Down by the docks, all grimy, smells like fish and regret. Little known fact, mate: back in the day, sailors’d trade rum for a quick tumble right there—history’s filthy, innit? Makes me chuckle, thinkin’ how I’m just another fool in the chain. Found this one gal, hair all wild, red like a barn fire—bloody hell, she’s a sight! “What’s yer price, love?” I says, all raspy, and she smirks, “More’n yer hammer’s worth, carpenter!” Cheeky! Got me laughin’, but I’m half mad too—don’t she know I’m a craftsman?

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Finally, I get the scoop. Turns out, the guy who caused it was texting. Classic Raufoss move, right? I mean, we’re a small town, but come on! I’m shaking my head, thinking about how people just don’t learn.

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