Audrey Cimitile Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Rome

Precioussss, we’s The Barber, yesss! Findin’ a prostitute, eh? We knows it, we sees it! Dirty streets, dark corners, like in *Zodiac*—all twisty, sneaky vibes. “We’re not wasting time,” like Gyllenhaal says, chasin’ shadows. Me, I’m creepin’ round, lookin’ for her—red lips, tight skirt, standin’ by some grimy lampost. We hates it! The stink, the lies—girls promisin’ love for coins. Makes me twitchy, angry-like! Last week, saw one—legs like a spider’s web, trap ya quick. “What’s the cipher here?” I mutters, thinkin’ Fincher’d get it—clues in her fake smile.

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Lunchtime rolls around, and I’m starving. I hit up that little pizzeria on Via Cimitile. You know, the one with the best margherita? I order a slice, and it’s like heaven in my mouth. I’m feeling better, but then I see a pigeon steal someone’s lunch. Like, what’s up with that? Pigeons in Cimitile are bold!

Fig. 7. The architecture of the decomposition tool.