Taylor Soliera Brothel ❤️❤️

About Genoa

Lemme paint ya a scene. I’m imaginin’ a brothel, all red velvet, dim lights, smells like cheap perfume and regret. Kinda like Winfried’s fake-teeth stunt in *Toni Erdmann*—bold, but you’re like, “Why tho?” Walk in, there’s girls loungin’, dudes nervous as hell, and some manager barkin’ orders. I’d be like, “This ain’t a corporate gig, chill!” Oh, fun fact—Amsterdam’s red-light district? They got *unions* for sex workers. Friggin’ organized, yo! Blew my mind. Wish I could high-five ‘em.

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Then I hit up the market at Piazza della Libertà. Man, that place is always buzzing! Fresh produce, people chatting, the smell of fresh bread. I love it. But today? Ugh. This lady in front of me was taking FOREVER to pick her tomatoes. I mean, c’mon! They’re tomatoes, not diamonds! I was ready to scream, “Just grab one already!” But I kept my cool. Mostly.

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