Emily Menfi Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Palermo

Walkin’ past neon signs, I’m sizin’ em up. One’s got a vibroblade scar—badass. Another’s smokin’ death sticks, winkin’ like she owns me. “The concierge is at your service”—yeah, right, more like, “Pay up, mask-face.” Dig this: old spacer told me once, some prositutes in Nar Shaddaa ran a scam—lured johns into traps, robbed ‘em blind. Sneaky bastards. Love that hustle, tho—keeps ya sharp.

In today’s world you can find pretty much anything with a smartphone.

Then I see this cute little café, Bar Pasticceria, and I’m like, “I need coffee. Stat!” I order a cappuccino, and the barista, this dude with a wild mustache, gives me a look like I just asked for a unicorn. I’m like, “Bro, it’s just coffee.” But he makes it, and it’s like liquid gold. I’m happy again.

Menfi receives congratulatory letter from King of Morocco on occasion of Independence Day