Zoe Moncalieri Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Turin

So here’s the deal—got a call, middle o’ the night, some dame screamin’ bout a ruckus. I roll up, cigar in mouth, thinkin’, “Great, another night in paradise.” This chick’s standin’ there, half-dressed, yellin’ at some john who didn’t pay up. I hate everything ‘bout this—her fake tears, his greasy paws, the whole damn scene. “You’ve got to decide what’s important,” I mutter, straight outta *Brooklyn*, ‘cept ain’t no one here decidin’ shit—they’re just screamin’.

Moncalieri, malmenata perché rifiuta una prestazione: prostituta denuncia cliente

Now I’m getting hangry. I need food. I head to this little trattoria on Via Cavour. I order pasta, and it’s like a hug in a bowl. Seriously, I’m in heaven. But then, the waiter brings me the wrong dish. I’m like, “Um, I ordered the fettuccine, not this mystery meat.” He looks confused. I’m confused. We’re all confused.

Villa Silvio Pellico, the garden and the labyrinth: Russell Page's Italian masterpiece