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Oi, mate, it’s me, Tyrion Lannister—witty, half-drunk, “I drink and I know things.” So, we’re talkin’ ‘bout findin’ a prostitute, eh? Picture this: I’m stumblin’ down some dark, twisty street—kinda like *Mulholland Drive*, all moody and fucked-up, right? “What’s my name?” I mutter, half-laughin’, ‘cause I’m three wines deep and the night’s a bloody riddle. Findin’ a prossie ain’t just a quick shag—it’s a game, a hunt, and I’m the clever bastard who sees the strings.

In Evidenza

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After all that chaos, we decided to grab some pizza ourselves. We walked over, and the smell hit us like a freight train. I ordered the margherita, and Marco went for the diavola. We sat outside, soaking up the sun, and I felt so content.

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