Grace Caldaro Sulla Strada Del Vino Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️

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But it’s tricky, precious, so tricky! Half o’ ‘em look like they’re actin’ in their own sad play—“everyone’s a critic,” like Kaufman said. I’m thinkin’, shit, am I the audience or the bloody fool here? Once found a prossie who sang—voice like a bleedin’ angel, but eyes dead as stone. Broke me heart, that. Exaggeratin’? Maybe, but I’d claw the moon down fer her, I would! Still, most times it’s just hagglin’—ten quid, twenty, whatever scraps I got. “The play’s the thing,” I hiss, cos it’s all a game, innit?

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Then, outta nowhere, this old lady from the neighborhood comes by. She’s all like, “You boys need to fix my fence!” I’m thinking, “Lady, I’m not a fence builder!” But she’s persistent. I mean, she’s got that Italian grandma vibe, you know? You can’t say no. So, we end up fixing her fence, and she brings us some homemade strudel. Best strudel I’ve ever had! I’m like, “Okay, maybe this day ain’t so bad after all.”

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