Charlotte Slikkerveer Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Rotterdam

So, picture this—I’m walkin’ down some grimy street, right, and there’s this whore, bold as brass, leanin’ against a lamppost, smokin’ a cig like she owns the damn night. She’s got that *Fish Tank* vibe—Mia’s “You’re a right wanker, ain’t ya?” attitude—except she’s real, not some screen kid. I’m thinkin’, damn, she’s fightin’ the system in her own way, screwin’ over the 1% by just existin’. Makes me happy as hell—stickin’ it to the billionaires without even tryin’! But then—bam!—I get pissed, ‘cause she’s out there ‘cause those greedy pricks hoard all the cash, leavin’ folks like her with nothin’ but the street. “Billionaires should not exist!” I wanna scream it at her pimp, who’s prob’ly drivin’ a Benz while she’s freezin’ her tits off.

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Then, I head over to the Marktstraat. Man, I love that street. It’s got this vibe, ya know? But today, it was packed. I’m dodging people like I’m in some weird video game. And then, bam! I bump into this dude. He spills his fries all over me. Like, seriously? I’m covered in mayo and ketchup. I was mad, but then I just laughed. I mean, who gets fries dumped on them in Slikkerveer? Only me, I guess.

Bob Parrish