Aria Genoa Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Palermo

So, findin a prostitute ain’t easy in this shithole. You’d think, “Oh, Bond, just flash that charm,” but nah—these walls got eyes, and the screws are uptight pricks. I’m pissed off already, cos one guard, fat bastard called Jenkins, keeps yappin bout “morals.” Morals? In here? Fuck off, mate. I’m tryna get laid, not save the world. Reminds me of that line, “Sorta like—walking on the beach,” but it’s more like dodgin shivs and snitches.

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È quasi impossibile raccontare delle prostitute nel centro storico genovese senza cominciare con una canzone di De André.

So, I’m limping along, and I decide to grab a coffee at this little café on Via XX Settembre. The barista was super chill, but the coffee? Wow, it was like liquid gold. I’m sippin’ it, and suddenly, I’m feelin’ like a million bucks. But then, I spill it all over my shirt. Great. Just great. Now I look like I’ve been attacked by a caffeinated monster.

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