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I seen this escort chick once, swear to God, motherfucker, she was smooth as hell—rolled up in a blacked-out whip, lookin like she owned the damn block. Had me grinnin ear to ear, like, “Shit, girl, you the Zuckerberg of this hustle!” Ain’t no one tellin you escorts ain’t smart—takes brains to play that game, dodge the law, keep the clients comin back. Little known fact, dig this: back in the day, some escorts in Vegas ran a whole spy ring—fuckin listenin to rich dudes pillow talk, sellin secrets to the highest bidder. Wild, right? Motherfucker, I was shocked!

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Anyway, I finally get my gelato—pistachio, of course. Best flavor ever! I’m sittin’ on the beach, enjoying the view of the Aeolian Islands. It’s like paradise, man. But then, I see this guy trying to impress a girl. He’s flexing his muscles, and I’m just sittin’ there, thinking, “Bro, you’re in Capo-d'Orlando, not a bodybuilding competition!”

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