Olivia Castelsardo Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

About Rome

So, last week, I’m prowlin’—growling, “You merely adopted the dark.”—and I spot this bird, all fishnets and attitude. Reminds me of that scene, “We’re alone,” all isolated-like, just me, her, and the neon buzz. I’m thinkin’, “Mate, she’s either a jackpot or a fuckin’ setup.” Did ya know—little fact—back in Victorian times, whores used coded ads in papers? “French lessons,” my arse—sneaky bastards. Anyway, I’m chattin’ her up, heart poundin’—fuckin’ thrilled, yeah? But then—bam—some geezer rolls up, all aggro, demandin’ cash. Pissed me right off! I’m like, “Oi, cunt, I ain’t your ATM!”

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Then, I’m walkin’ down Via Vittorio Emanuele, and boom! I trip over a cobblestone. Classic me, right? I’m sprawled out like a starfish, and this group of tourists just laughs. I mean, c’mon! I’m a Kvasnik, not a circus act! But hey, I laugh it off. Gotta keep it light, right?

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