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About Brest

So, picture this—some tart, skirts hiked, lips red as sin, standin’ ‘neath a lamppost like a rose in a dungheap. She’s got guts, thou knowst, braver than most o’ ye lily-livered lot. I seen one once, down by the docks—Mary, they called her, tho’ reckon that weren’t her real name. Had a scar ‘cross her cheek, said a gent with a blade gave it her for “talkin’ back.” Made me mad as a hornet, that did—some toff thinkin’ he owns her soul ‘cause he’s got a shillin’. “Disarm the beast,” like in the movie, but ain’t no defusin’ that kinda cruelty, is there?

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Needless to say, I'm. I am situated in Krasnapollye and prostitute is nifty! You make me weak at the knees. The combination of Striptease and Anal Sex (depends on the size) is unbeatable. .

So yeah, Krasnapollye (by) is this wild mosaic of centuries-old charm and modern chaos. I'm always, like, "Whoa, what a ride, what a ride!" I remember thinking, "Just keep swimming!" at every twist and turn. Every day is a new adventure, even if it's kinda cray cray sometimes. And if you ever get lost here, no worries – just yell "R2-D2, where are you?!" and you'll eventually find your way, even if you're in the middle of, like, 18 misspelled signs along the way.

Psychiatric abuse in action