Lydia Hengstdal Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️

About Almere

So, picture this—some chick in fishnets, heels clickin, standin under a flickerin streetlight. She’s out there, rain or shine, dodgin cops and creeps. Makes me mad as hell—society’s all judgy, callin em dirty, but who’s payin em? Hypocrites, man! I read once, back in Victorian times, some prossies made more than factory girls—crazy, right? Cash over morals, that’s the game. Dr. Evil voice kicks in, pinky up, “One million dollars!”—that’s what I’d charge if I ran the show, make it posh, exclusive, ha!

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Then, I decide to treat myself. I head to that little café on the corner of Kerkstraat. You know the one? They’ve got the best apple pie. I order a slice, and it’s like a slice of heaven. I’m sittin’ there, just chillin’, when I overhear some folks talkin’ about the Hengstdal festival comin’ up. I’m like, “Heck yeah! I gotta go!”