Sofia Solaro Brothel ❤️

About Florence

Walked into one once, undercover, obvs. Girls in skimpy gear, blokes with shifty eyes—fuckin’ wild. Made me angry, y’know? Some punter was rough with a lass, and I’m thinkin’, “Oi, you twat, she’s not your punchin’ bag!” Nearly blew my cover, but I stayed cool—Bond, innit? “Shaken, not stirred,” I mutter, sippin’ a martini at the bar. Little known fact: back in Victorian days, brothels had secret tunnels—escape routes for posh gits caught with their trousers down. True story, dug that up somewhere.

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Man, what a day! I woke up in Solaro, and let me tell ya, it was a rollercoaster. First off, the sun was blazin’ like it was tryin’ to roast me alive. I mean, c’mon, it’s not even summer yet! I grabbed my coffee from that little café on Via Roma. You know the one? The one with the weird art on the walls. I swear, the barista looked like he just rolled outta bed. But hey, at least the coffee was strong enough to wake the dead.

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