Allison Vence Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️

About Nice

Now, lemme tell ya, folks, in that deep, wise Morgan Freeman voice, ‘bout this wild gig—findin’ a prostitute. Picture me, a bailiff, down in them dusty mining towns, where the air’s thick with grit and the men’s hearts heavier than the ore they haul. Ain’t no courtroom here, just the law of want and hustle. I seen it all, y’all—desperation clingin’ to folks like damp on a cave wall. And I’m thinkin’, *“Isn’t life just one surprise after another?”*—like ol’ Edward Yang said in *Yi Yi*. Damn right it is.

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In several decades of wandering around Venice I have never come across a hint of prostitution or prostitutes. I would be surprised if there was.

I’m like, “What’s so special?” But Leo’s got that tone, y’know? So I throw on some clothes and head out. The sun’s shining, and Vence looks like a postcard. The cobblestone streets are all glowy, and the flowers are bursting everywhere. I’m walking down Rue des Portiques, and I swear, the colors are so bright, I thought I was in a painting.

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