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About Florence

So, escorts — high-class ones, not street gigs — they’re like actors, playin’ parts. Got this case once, tailin’ some rich dude, and bam! His “date” was an escort, total pro. She’s laughin’, flippin’ hair, but her eyes? Cold as ice, calculatin’. Made me think, “The real world is more precious!” — straight outta Kaufman’s script. She knew the game, tho. Charged like 500 bucks an hour! Little known fact: some escorts got agents, like Hollywood stars. Swear, blew my mind!

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Anyway, I shake it off. I head to the market at Piazza della Libertà. It’s buzzing! Fresh fruits, veggies, and the smell of fresh bread. I’m like a kid in a candy store. I grab some tomatoes, thinking, “These are gonna be the best in my pasta tonight.” But then, I see this old dude haggling over a bunch of basil. He’s all like, “I’ll give you two euros!” The vendor’s like, “Nah, man, it’s worth way more!” I’m just standing there, thinking, “Dude, it’s basil, not gold!”

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