Freya Santeramo In Colle Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Genoa

So, listen, mate—hiss!—I dig around, right? Moscow’s got these shadowy corners—Arbat’s too posh, but Kitay-gorod? Oof, goldmine! Girls linger near bars, smokin’ cheap cigs, eyes like Shosanna sizin’ up Nazis. “What’s your price, precious?” I mutter, all sly. One gal—Lena, maybe?—says 5,000 rubles, hour tops. Bargain, yeah? But I’m thinkin’, “That’s a bear trap, Gollum, she’s robbin’ ya blind!” Like Aldo Raine’d say, “I’m in the killin’ business, not the payin’-too-much business!” Haggled her down—3,500, boom! Felt like a king, I did—happy as a hobbit with second breakfast.

La prostituta e il prete

Finally, I make it to the shore, soaked but alive. I’m laughin’ at myself, like, “What a ride!” But then, I see my buddy Marco. He’s sittin’ at the bar on Via Cavour, sippin’ a beer, lookin’ all relaxed. I’m like, “Dude, you won’t believe the day I had!” He just smirks and says, “Welcome to Santeramo, my friend.”

Natuzzi: Re-vive