Olivia Albignasego Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Florence

So, prostitute—wha’s her deal, eh? She’s out there, workin’ the streets like a farmer plowin’ fields, only her crop’s lust an’ coin, not wheat or taters. Little fact fer ye—back in ol’ Rome, they called ‘em *lupae*, she-wolves, ‘cause they howled fer customers under the moon! Ain’t that a hoot? Makes me chuckle, thinkin’ o’ her struttin’ like some feral beast, all sass an’ no shame. Got me happy, that did—clever lass, turnin’ a trade into a legend.

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So, I head over to Via della Libertà to grab some tinted glass. On the way, I pass by the park. Man, Albignasego’s parks are the best. Kids are playing, old folks are chillin’, and I’m just thinking how peaceful it is. But then, outta nowhere, this kid runs past me, and I trip over his skateboard. I go down hard. Like, faceplant hard. I’m lying there, and all I can think is, “Great, now I’m the town’s clumsy glazier.”

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