Lauren Wisch Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️

About Breda

Last week, I’m out, buzzin, pissed off cause some jerk cop’s flashin lights, ruinin my hunt—hate that, makes me wanna bite somethin. Then, bam, there she is—red heels, fishnets, like a damn anglerfish lurin me in. “How much?” I ask, all smooth, voice like silk over a blade. She smirks, “More than you got, fancy pants.” Cheeky! Love that, got me laughin—happy as a shark in blood. “I’m not a child,” she snaps, straight outta “Ten,” that sass, that fire—surprised me, gotta say, didn’t expect a street gal to hit me with philosophy.

Martyn Joseph: From Dolphins to Prostitutes, the Welsh songsmith looks for inspiration

When it comes to hooking up, you have to play by the rules. Baby talk? Anal? If you're not careful, it's going to be your ass.

So, I grab my stuff and head out. I’m walking down the Kerkstraat, and it’s packed. Like, what’s with all the people? I mean, it’s Wisch, not Amsterdam! I’m dodging strollers, bikes, and some dude who’s way too into his phone. Seriously, watch where you’re going, man!

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