Mila Pisticci Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

About Catania

So, findin’ a prossie—where d’ya even start? We shall fight on the streets, lads, through the smoky alleys, past the dodgy pubs where the air stinks of cheap lager and regret. I reckon it’s a war, yeah? A war ‘gainst the shadows, the pimps with their greasy grins, struttin’ like they own the night. Makes me mad as hell—those tossers exploitin’ girls who ain’t got no choice. Reminds me of the Corsican in *A Prophet*, pullin’ strings, thinkin’ he’s king. “I’m the boss here,” he’d growl. Bollocks to that, I say.

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Man, what a day! Pisticci, you wild little town. I woke up thinking it’d be chill. Nope! Not even close. First off, I’m just trying to grab a coffee at Bar Centrale on Via Roma. You know, the one with the best pastries? But guess what? They ran out of cornetti! Like, seriously? Who runs out of cornetti in the morning? I was ready to throw a fit.

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