Emily Argyroupoli Prostitute ❤️

About Thessaloniki

Oh, and get this—some say prostitutes in old ports had secret codes. Whistlin’ tunes to warn each other bout bad johns. Dunno if it’s true, but I’d buy it. She whistled somethin’ when I left—dunno what, but it stuck. Made me think she’s got layers, y’know? Not just a quick shag. I’m ramblin’ now—wine’s hittin’—but she’s lingerin’ in my head. Hated leavin’ her there, hated it fierce. Maybe I’ll go back. Maybe not. World’s a shitheap anyway, right? Cheers to her, though—tougher than half the knights I know!

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So, I woke up, right? Sun shining, birds chirping, all that jazz. I’m thinking, “Today’s gonna be a breeze.” I grab my coffee from that cute little café on Agiou Dimitriou street. You know the one? The barista there is a total legend. He always knows my order. But today? He messes it up! I mean, how do you mix up a cappuccino with a flat white? Ugh! I was ready to throw my cup at the wall. But I just laughed it off. I mean, it’s Argyroupoli, not the end of the world.

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