Emilia Eksjoe Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Uppsala

So, prostitutes—lordy, where do I start? I ain’t judgin’, honey, I’m just a big-haired gal who’s seen a thing or two. They’re out there, workin’ the streets, makin’ a livin’ how they can. Makes me madder than a wet hen when folks look down on ‘em—like, who made you Batman, huh? “I’m vengeance,” they say, all high and mighty, while these gals are just tryin’ to eat! Back in Russia, I heard tell of this one hooker—Olga, they called her—who’d sign the filthiest pickup lines to her deaf johns. Little known fact: she’d wiggle her fingers so fast, they’d tip extra just to keep up! Had me laughin’ harder than a hyena on moonshine.

Project details

But then, outta nowhere, it starts pouring. I mean, like, monsoon level. We’re sprinting for cover, laughing like idiots. I’m soaked, and Lars is trying to shield himself with a napkin. A NAPKIN! I’m like, “Dude, you’re gonna need more than that!”