Ava Handen Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

About Stockholm

So, picture this: me, green lil’ me, cruisin’ some dusty road. “Where’s the body?”—nah, scratch that, “Where’s the gal?” I’d be all nervous, ribbitin’ to myself, “Kermit, don’t screw this up!” Prolly spot her leanin’ on a lamppost, smokin’, lookin’ bored as heck. I’d roll up, all polite—Hi-ho, miss!—and she’d smirk, like, “What’s a frog want?” Ha! I’d die laughin’ inside.

So you want to book a sex worker?

I rush to the library on Huddingevägen. It’s quiet, too quiet. I’m trying to focus, but my brain’s like a squirrel on caffeine. I’m typing away, and then—BAM! The fire alarm goes off. Everyone’s freaking out. I’m just standing there like, “Really? Today of all days?”

A glance at Handen Distillery in Cedarburg.