Luna Egilsstadir Prostitute ❤️

About Seltjarnarnes

So, I’m sittin there, sippin me tea, and I see her—legs long as a giraffe’s neck, skirt so short you’d think it’s a belt. Nature’s a funny thing, eh? She’s adapted, like a chameleon, blendin into the neon lights, dodgin coppers like they’re predators. Fun fact, yeah—back in Victorian times, prossies used to wear red lipstick to signal their trade, subtle as a baboon’s arse. Bet you didn’t know that, did ya? Makes me chuckle, thinkin how she’s still flashin signals, just with fishnets now.

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So, I’m like, “Get it together, dude.” I shake it off and keep walking. The air is crisp, and the mountains are all around. I mean, have you seen the views? It’s like nature’s own Instagram filter. But then, I hear this loud honking. I look up, and it’s a bus. A BUS! It’s the only bus in town, and it’s late. Like, really late. I’m thinking, “C’mon, Egilsstadir, get your act together!”

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