Delilah Pelplin Find A Prostitute ❤️

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Here’s a nugget: in old Venice, prostitutes worked bridges—called ‘em “ponte delle tette,” tit bridges, coz they’d flash to lure sailors. Wish I’d been there, sippin’ wine, watchin’ the show! Beats skulkin’ round Flea Bottom, dodgin’ rats and cutthroats. Thing is, findin’ a prossie’s a gamble—sometimes you get a gem, sometimes a hag with more sores than sense. “What’s done is done,” like they say in the movie—once you’re in, no backin’ out. Surprised me once, this one gal knew riddles—smart as me, nearly. Kept her an extra hour just to chat. Rare, that.

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But then, the power goes out. Just like that. I’m sitting there in the dark, and I’m like, “Seriously?!” The owner’s trying to keep everyone calm, but I can see the panic in his eyes. I mean, it’s Pelplin, not a horror movie! So, I whip out my phone, and we all start using our flashlights. It’s kinda funny, actually. A bunch of strangers bonding over pierogi and darkness.

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