Claire Fregene Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Turin

But then—bloody hell—she nicks my wallet! Sneaky mare! I’m gutted, man, screamin’, “The world forgetting, by the world forgot!” Straight outta the movie, that. Chased her down, got it back, but cor blimey, what a palaver! Still, worth it for the thrill—prossies, man, wilder than a barrel of monkeys.

So you want to book a sex worker?

Everywhere you see carbage. On the beach and around the beachhouse is very dirty. We see the birds eating plastics, and it will kill a lot of fish.

But then, outta nowhere, the sky goes dark. Like, what the heck? I’m thinking, “Is this a horror movie?” And then it starts pouring. I mean, seriously, Fregene? You couldn’t have waited five more minutes? I’m sprinting for cover, dodging people left and right. I end up in this cute little café on Via della Torre.

Fregene: Tackling sports stars’ post-retirement financial distress