Elise Sant Ambrogio Di Valpollicella Whore ❤️

About Naples

This one bird—called her Ruby—worked the shadows near a casino. Had a laugh like a hyena, pissed me off at first, all loud and brash. But damn, she was sharp—knew every mark’s weakness. Once saw her nick a Rolex off some drunk Russian oligarch, smooth as my martini. “Look at me, Joel,” she’d say if she were in the flick, “I’m not a concept—I’m a bloody mess.” Made me chuckle, that did—whores got guts, mate. Guts and a knack for survival.

To do and see

So, I’m dripping wet, and I decide to head to the local café on Piazza della Libertà. I need a pick-me-up. I order a cappuccino, and the barista, Maria, gives me this look. She knows I’m a mess. I’m like, “Yeah, yeah, I know. I look like a drowned rat.” She just laughs and hands me my drink.

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