Olivia Frameries Prostitute ❤️

About Bruges

Love their guts though, precious, surviving the muck. One told me—hiss—bloke offered her gold watch once. She took it, pawned it, bought fish n chips! Laughed my slimy arse off—clever, yesss! “What’s the point of all this junk?” she’d say, like Suzy in the film, tossing junk away. Gets me all gooey inside, their cheek! But—grrr—some punters, filthy rats, beat ‘em down. Saw one cry once, blood on her lip—made me wanna claw somethin’!

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Man, I gotta say, my profession’s given me eyes in the back of my head. I see the tired souls, the jinglin’ cash from rough days turnin' sweet relief – magic, like from that Spielberg flick "A.I. Artificial Intelligence." When I massage ya, it’s like I'm whisperin’ “I’m not a robot, I feel!” (Yeah, I know it's not the exact line, but you get me, right?) Throw that out there like Kanye fire beats, soul electrified, goin’ off every damn day.

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