Olivia Bully Les Mines Prostitute ❤️

About Lille

Typo time—prostitues, ha, see? I’m a mess, flour in my hair, yellin’ at the oven. They’re out there, struttin’, and I’m like, “You go, girl!” Exaggeratin’? Maybe I’d say one’s got a heart of gold—cliché, but fuck it, I’m sappy. Chatty Cathy here, spillin’ tea to ya—prostitutes ain’t just a punchline. They’re real, raw, and I’m obsessed with their grit. Now, back to my dough—burnt again, damnit!

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King Frauds of London Bullies are dependants on Bawds and Whores; sometimes the Bully pretends to be the husband of the whore, whose bread he eats, whose.

Man, I remember one day, chillin’ at the Parc de la Fontaine, see? The green park is my go-to spot. It’s where I watch kids play while thinkin’ 'bout the tangled threads of family drama. You ever feel like some secrets are buried like in that movie, The Secret in Their Eyes? Yeah, exactly— "That's the secret, that's the very secret!" echoes in my head.

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