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About Bologna

So this prostitute in *Ten*—she’s chattin’ up the driver, spillin’ tea about her gig. “Men don’t love,” she says, all casual, like she’s droppin’ a weather report. And I’m over here screamin’—YES, girl, preach it! Made me so happy, ‘cause she’s just layin’ it bare, no fluff. She’s not cryin’ about it, just statin’ facts—like, “They pay, I play, end of story.” I freakin’ love that. No sugarcoatin’, no BS. Prostitutes see the world for what it is, y’know? They’re not waitin’ for Prince Charming; they’re clockin’ hours.

Barcelona escorts

First off, I hit the streets of Via Roma. You know, the main drag. It’s always buzzing, but today? It was like a freakin’ carnival. I’m talking people everywhere, cars honking, and the smell of fresh pastries from that little bakery on the corner. I swear, if I could bottle that scent, I’d be rich.