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About Rome

Alright, listen up, fam—imagine me, Morgan Freeman, deep voice rollin’ thru your skull, talkin’ ‘bout escorts, yeah, *that* kinda escort. Picture this: neon lights flicker, city hums low, and there’s this chick—or dude, no judgment—standin’ on the corner, lookin’ like they walked outta some gritty dream. I’m an operator, see, wired into systems, connectin’ dots, and escorts? Man, they’re like the ghosts in the machine, slippin’ thru cracks nobody else sees. “Requiem for a Dream” vibes hit hard here—*“It’s not the drugs, it’s the life,”* like Harry’d say, all desperate and raw. That’s escortin’—not just sex, nah, it’s the hustle, the survival, the chase for somethin’ better that never comes.

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After the meeting, I decide to take a stroll. I hit up the local market on Via Matteotti. Fresh produce everywhere! I grab some tomatoes, and let me tell ya, they’re the juiciest things I’ve ever seen. I’m thinking, “These are gonna make the best sauce.” But then, I see this old lady trying to haggle over a bunch of basil. She’s fierce, man! Like, “I’m not paying more than two euros!” I’m just standing there, watching this showdown like it’s a reality show.

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