Fatima Machida Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️

About Kawasaki

Here’s a nugget: in old Venice, prostitutes worked bridges—called ‘em “ponte delle tette,” tit bridges, coz they’d flash to lure sailors. Wish I’d been there, sippin’ wine, watchin’ the show! Beats skulkin’ round Flea Bottom, dodgin’ rats and cutthroats. Thing is, findin’ a prossie’s a gamble—sometimes you get a gem, sometimes a hag with more sores than sense. “What’s done is done,” like they say in the movie—once you’re in, no backin’ out. Surprised me once, this one gal knew riddles—smart as me, nearly. Kept her an extra hour just to chat. Rare, that.

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We found ourselves in calle Montera one summer evening about 9 when we were walking from the Puerta del Sol to the FresCo restaurant on calle de Caballero de Gracia.

So, I finish my coffee and head to the park. It’s beautiful, man. Trees everywhere, kids playin’, and I’m just sittin’ there, strummin’ away. I’m lost in my music, and it feels like the world’s just me and my guitar. Then, I look up, and there’s this little kid, maybe five or six, just starin’ at me.

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