Nova Rotorua Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Hastings

Oi, mate, it’s me, Tyrion Lannister—witty as hell, “I drink and I know things.” So, you wanna talk findin’ a prostitute? Buckle up, coz I got thoughts—messy, loud, real ones! Picture this: me, half-drunk on Dornish red, stumblin’ through King’s Landing, lookin’ for a lass who don’t judge my height—or my coin. I’ve seen it all, from brothels smellin’ like roses to ones reekin’ of piss. Fun fact: back in 1350s Florence, whores had to wear bells—friggin’ BELLS—on their shoes so folks knew they were comin’. Imagine that jingle followin’ you down an alley, eh? Hilarious, but damn annoyin’ too.

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By the time the sun starts setting, I’m exhausted but happy. Rotorua’s got this magic, man. The way the sky turns orange and pink over the lake? Breathtaking. I’m just about to call it a night when I hear this loud roar. I think it’s a lion or something. Nope! Just a bunch of kids on a bouncy castle.

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