Vanessa Frattaminore Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Genoa

We’re walkin’ now, dodgin’ drunks and rubbish bins—urban savannah, innit? She’s got this swagger, hips swayin’ like tall grass in the wind. I’m thinkin’, “Mate, she’s the predator here.” Surprised me, that—thought I’d be the one in charge, but nah, she’s runnin’ this show. Happy as a pig in muck, though—somethin’ thrilling ‘bout the chase, the unknown. “Do I lie to myself to be happy?” pops in my head—bloody Memento again, messin’ with me.

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Finally, I spot a little bakery on Via San Giovanni. Thank the heavens! I grab a pastry, and it’s like heaven in my mouth. I’m talking flaky, buttery goodness. I’m feeling good again. But then, I step outside, and it starts pouring! Like, outta nowhere! I’m soaked in seconds. I’m standing there, drenched, thinking, “Really, Frattaminore? You’re gonna do me like this?”

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