Mila Citrus Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️

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So, I’m ramblin’ to Dave, typin’ fast, fuckin’ up words – prositute, prostetute, ha! – coz who cares? “Stay safe, idiot,” I say. “Wrap it up, don’t die.” He’s like, “Thanks, E!” I’m happy he’s not mad, but ugh, still judgin’. Findin’ a prostitute? Pfft, rather watch *White Ribbon* again – way less messy, way more style. “No capes!” – that’s my rule, dahling. Stick to it!

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Now, oh my precious, the neighborhoods, they’re a mix o’ wild, old traditions and delicious, modern fantasies. Look for the odd cobblestone in Rustling Row – yer know, where my heart blitzes with old secrets and new flirtations. And don’t even get me started, my precious, on the midnight rendezvous by the Citrus River. Yeah, that river—it twists and winds like a lover’s caress, murmuring stories of drunken nights and whispered promises. Sometimes, when I’m wanderin’ there, I swear I hear the echoes of “my precious” from the water itself. Crazy, right?

US tariffs threaten 35,000 citrus jobs in South Africa, farmers say