Sophie Copparo Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Florence

Last week, stumbled on this lass, right? Skirt short, eyes sharp, smokin’ a fag. “Fare thee well,” I mutters, like in me fave flick, *Inside Llewyn Davis*. She laughs, “Wot’s that, creep?” Made me mad, her sass, but also – ha! – kinda liked it. Cheeky tart. Did ya know, back in Victorian days, prossies used secret codes? Little hand signs, winks, to dodge coppers. Clever, eh? Bet she knew ‘em, this one.

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But then, as I’m leaving, I realize I left my ceramic cat on the table! I rush back, and it’s gone! I’m panicking, thinking someone’s stolen my Gatto di Copparo. I’m about to lose it. I’m asking everyone, “Have you seen a weird cat?” People are looking at me like I’m nuts. Finally, Lucia finds it in the kitchen. I’m like, “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” I hug her like she’s my long-lost sister.

The rumor: no 50% sale to the Altivest Capital fund, which however is a partner of the company in via Copparo. Tacopina is sure: "One club is enough"