Addison Alessano Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Turin

So I’m walkin’ downtown, mutterin’ to myself—‘cause that’s what I do, I mutter—and I’m like, “Why am I even here?” Findin’ a prostitue ain’t like pickin’ up bagels! I see this gal, smokin’ a cigarette, leanin’ on a pole—real cliché, right? I’m thinkin’, “She’s no Eilis Lacey!” In *Brooklyn*, she’s all, “I’ll write home!” This chick’s writin’ nothin’—maybe a parking ticket. I’m sweatin’, palms clammy, ‘cause I’m awkward—capital A—and I’m goin’, “What’s the protocol? Do I wave? Haggle? I’m not a haggler!”

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Then, outta nowhere, it started pouring. I mean, like, torrential downpour. I ducked into a little trattoria. Best decision ever. I ordered some orecchiette. You know, the pasta that looks like little ears? So good! I was just enjoying my meal when the power went out. Classic Alessano, right?

Pope Francis in Alessano: “Your land produced a saint”