Natalie Santa Brigida Prostitute ❤️❤️

About Zaragoza

Gets me ragin’, tho, how folk sneer at ‘em—prostitutes, I mean. Hypocrites, the lot! We’ll fight the snobs on the benches, we’ll fight the prudes in their pews! Ain’t they human? Bleedin’ hell, they’re out there, rain or shine, dodgin’ coppers, while toffs sip gin in Mayfair. Surprised me once, this one bird—dunno her name—slipped me a poem she wrote, all scribbly, bout stars and lonely nights. Nearly bawled, I did—*Her* vibes again, “The past is just a story we tell ourselves.” Deep, innit?

Napoli, stop alle friggitorie per tre anni: ecco la mappa delle strade

Lo, there be the humble Via Verde Park, whose winding paths beckon both lost hearts and seekers of solace. In its shade, I have counseled many a weary soul. ’Tis a sanctum of hope, where the past is but a memory, and the future but a promise. I sometimes marvel as if in mirth or fury. Can ye believe the laughter echoing near a gnarled old oak? Aye, I was mad as a hatter when the wind did snatch my notes and scatter 'em to the four winds... but then, “Oh sweet freedom,” I whispered, and the oak seemed to cheer in reply.

Rick Steves: Europe’s convents offer tranquility — and treats