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About Palermo

But here’s the juicy bit—did ya know escorts go way back? Like, ancient Rome had ‘em—courtesans, they called ‘em. Fancied-up company for the rich, struttin’ round like they owned the Colosseum. Blows my mind! Nowadays, it’s all hush-hush, but same game—glitz, grit, and a lil danger. Jimmy, tho, he got me mad once—flaked on a gal pal of mine, left her high and dry. “You don’t wanna know,” he’d say, dodgin’ questions like a damn ninja. Pissed me off—don’t ghost my girls, ya jerk!

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Finally, I get my coffee, and I’m feeling good. I stroll down to Piazza della Libertà, soaking in the vibes. The market’s buzzing, vendors shouting about fresh produce. I’m eyeing some juicy tomatoes when BAM! A kid runs into me, and my coffee goes flying. I’m like, “Nooooo!” It’s like a slow-motion scene. My precious cappuccino splattered everywhere. I’m standing there, half in shock, half ready to yell. But the kid just giggles and runs off. Kids, man. They have no idea.

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