Vanessa Quartucciu Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Rome

So, last week—d’oh!—I’m cruisin’ downtown, belly fulla donuts, lookin’ for some action. Streets are buzzin’, lights flashin’, and I’m like, “Marge’d kill me, but whatever!” You gotta dodge the cops, tho—sneaky bastards. Fun fact: back in old Rome, prostitutes wore blonde wigs to stand out. Crazy, right? Imagine that—blonde wig, high heels, waitin’ under a lamp post like some ninja from “The Assassin.” “She moves in silence,” like the movie says, and bam, there she is!

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So, I’m walking down Via Cagliari, and I see this street artist painting a mural. It’s dope! Bright colors, wild shapes. I’m vibing, taking pics, when suddenly, this kid runs by, knocks my phone outta my hand, and it goes flying! I’m like, “Noooo!” But it lands on grass, thank the gods. Kid just keeps running, no apology, no nothing. I’m fuming.

Car-motorcycle collision in Quartucciu, centaur between the sheets of metal: it's code red