Mila Ginosa Brothel ❤️

About Rome

I’m talkin’ to this dude there, bouncer type, big-ass scar on his face. He’s like, “Man, these girls choose this!” and I’m like, “Motherfucker, CHOICE? Some of ‘em got no damn options!” That shit burns me up—makes me wanna scream like I’m Jules in *Pulp Fiction*. But then, this other chick—she’s laughin’, countin’ cash, happy as fuck. Surprised me, yo—she’s runnin’ her game, ownin’ it. “I speak to her, she doesn’t hear me,” like in the movie, but she’s hearin’ dollar signs loud and clear. Gotta respect the hustle, right?

The Brotheler Guide

Finally, the day winds down. I’m exhausted but happy. I head back home, takin’ the long way through the old town. The streets are all lit up, and it’s beautiful. I pass by the Chiesa Madre, and I can’t help but smile. Ginosa, you crazy little town, you’ve got my heart.

Eighty hectares of watermelon damaged by hail in Taranto