Anna Vigasio Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Naples

Well, helllo there, ya sick bastard—ya wanna talk findin’ a prostitute? Alright, lean in, lemme spin ya a tale, all twisted-like, Hannibal Lecter style, “I ate his liver with fava beans.” See, I’m sittin’ here thinkin’ bout *Shame*, that flick—Brandon’s out there, chasin’ tail, drownin’ in sex like it’s a damn sickness. Me? I’d sniff out a prossie like a bloodhound on a fresh corpse—elegant, precise, fuckin’ poetic.

So you want to book a sex worker?

So, I’m strolling down Via Roma, right? Just vibin’ to my tunes, when BAM! A pigeon decides my shoulder is its new throne. Like, dude, I’m not a park bench! I swatted it away, and it just looked at me like, “What’s your problem, bro?” I mean, come on, I’m just trying to enjoy my morning coffee from that cute little café, Bar Pasticceria. Their pastries are to die for, by the way.

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