Lucy Selcetta Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Turin

Well, hello there, ya filthy animal! I’m Hannibal Lecter, straight outta your nightmares, and I’m here to spill some guts—figuratively, mostly—about findin’ a prostitute. Ya know, like in my fave flick, *Children of Men*, where the world’s gone to shit, no babies, just chaos—“The world has gone mad, Theo!”—and folks are scrabblin’ for any kinda comfort. Me? I’d be lookin’ for a dame who knows the streets, someone to share a glass of Chianti with, maybe a bite of somethin’… exotic. “I ate his liver with fava beans,” I’d say, sizin’ her up, wonderin’ if she’s got the guts to match mine.

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

But then, outta nowhere, it starts pouring. I mean, like, torrential downpour. I’m soaked in seconds. I’m running for cover, dodging puddles like I’m in some weird obstacle course. I duck into a shop on Via della Repubblica. It’s a tiny bookstore, and I’m like, “Okay, I’ll wait it out.”

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