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About Bologna

So, dig this—little known fact, swear down: back in Victorian times, prossies had secret codes, flashin handkerchiefs to signal punters. Wild, innit? Bet they’d laugh at us now, fumblin about like numpties. I’m thinkin, “Gordon, keep it sharp, don’t settle for slop!”—like Remy dodgin them crap chefs. Found this one bird eventually—fit, cheeky, knew her game. Made me grin, proper chuffed— “This is my moment!” I says, like that rat tastin soup.

Da area della mafia a centri per l'autismo

Prostitutes are usually forced into what they do, they don't enjoy it.. As for your experience, you will pick it up fast enough. You have the advantage of not being a cunt, so well done. Get .

Finally, I finish the reports. I’m feeling like a champ. I head out to grab lunch at Trattoria da Gigi. Best pasta in town, no contest. I order the tagliatelle al ragù. It’s heavenly. But then, I see this guy at the next table. He’s got a huge plate of pizza. I’m like, “Dude, why didn’t I order that?”

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