Mari Sigli Find A Prostitute ❤️

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So, I’m dodgin’ them redcoats—er, coppers—down some grimy alley. Smells like rum an’ regret, an’ I’m thinkin’, “Why’d I leave me ship fer this?” Then, bam! There she be—red lips, eyes sharp as a cutlass. “You’re a rare one, ain’t ya?” I says, tippin’ me hat. She smirks, all sly-like, an’ I’m hooked, savvy? Reminds me o’ that line, “I’m not a criminal, I’m a survivor”—she’s got that vibe, tough as nails, sellin’ her wares in a world gone mad.

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So, I rush back to the office, looking like a drowned rat. My boss sees me and just shakes his head. Classic. I sit down, trying to dry off, when my phone buzzes. It’s a client. They wanna cancel their policy. I’m like, “Are you kidding me? I just got soaked for you!” But I keep it cool. “Sure, let’s talk about it,” I say, trying to sound all professional.

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