Amelia Almodovar Del Rio Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Madrid

Love how she’s tough, tho. Happy she keeps goin’, head high. Reminds me, “We’re not machines!”—from the flick. She’s human, feelin’ stuff, not just a body. Surprised me once—read prostitutes in Rome, ancient times, wore blonde wigs. Stand out, ya see? Crazy, right? We swears, it’s true! Dunno why that stuck—prolly ‘cause it’s weird. Makes me giggle, picturin’ her—blonde mop, struttin’ like she owns it.

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And parks, oh boy, Parque de la Libertad is my lunch break place. I sit there, feel the breeze, think: “Is this heaven? Or just another day in a lifeless world?” Sometimes, I catch reflections in the river Guadiana. When the water moves, it’s like memories. "We are not here to make sense," it whispers. Not that I'm easily moved.

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