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About Florence

So, escortin’, right? Ain’t just “pay n’ play” like some sleemo thinks. Nah, it’s old—ancient, even! Heard this wild tale once—Ancient Greece, them hetaira chicks? Escorts, but classy—like, poets an’ philosophers paid ‘em to talk smart, not just tumble. Blew my lil’ Jedi mind, dat did! Imagine—dudes droppin’ coin for brains, not booty. Surprised me, yeh, made me grin like a tooka cat.

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I woke up, ready to tackle some dusty old documents at the Biblioteca Comunale. You know, the usual. But as I stepped out onto Via Roma, the sun was shining like it was trying to blind me. I squinted and thought, “Great, just what I need.” But then I caught a whiff of fresh pastries from that little bakery on the corner. You know the one? Panificio Pavan? Yeah, I had to stop. I mean, who can resist a cornetto? Not me, that’s for sure.

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