Olivia Falkoeping Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Orebro

Exaggeratin’? Maybe. But I’m out there, sunburnt, cursin’—“Why’d I pick this job?!”—and I see these lil’ flowers bloom on it. Yellow, pink—gorgeous! Surprised me, ‘cause it’s a mean-lookin’ plant, then—pow!—beauty. Kinda like life, huh? Ugly, then sweet. Anyway, Prostitute’s my fave now—tough, tasty, total badass. Nolan’d make it a plot twist—“It’s a fruit within a fruit!”—and I’d buy it, ‘cause I’m a sucker for that guy. Alright, I’m done—go eat one, ya schmucks!

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The truth of the matter is that the nature of prostitution flavours the sexual act as far too distasteful and too sleazy and too bound up with degradation to allow any kind of wholesale.

So, I’m hustling down the streets. Falköping’s got this vibe, ya know? Old buildings mixed with modern stuff. I pass by the old train station, and I’m like, “Man, this place has seen some things.” I mean, it’s been around since forever.

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