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About Catania

Oi, you donkey! Escort, yeah? Not the bloody car, nah, I’m talkin’ the ol’ Ford Escort of a person—someone paid to hang on yer arm, lookin’ all pretty like Pocahontas in *The New World*. “The land is life!”—bollocks, it’s cash for company, innit? Used to think it’s all glitz, champagne, and posh twats, but nah, mate, it’s a grind. A proper grind! Some lass or lad struttin’ about, dodgin’ creeps, makin’ rent. Idiot sandwich! You reckon it’s easy? Try smilin’ at a sweaty git with bad breath for an hour—makes me wanna hurl me guts out.

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Breast Appearance. You want authenticity for your time, genuine warmth and affection. You crave the excitement of someone new as well as the comfort of.

After my caffeine fix, I rush to the office. I’m sprinting down Via Cavour, dodging pedestrians like I’m in some kind of obstacle course. I get to my desk, and it’s a mess. Papers everywhere! I’m talking about a tornado of documents. I can’t even find my stapler. Like, who steals a stapler?

Drones take Italians’ temperature and issue fines