Sarah Robbio Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Rome

Hey bud, so prostitute, huh? I’m thinkin’—like, whoa, what a gig! Bein’ a psych pro from the Russian Academy, I see stuff. Stuff normies miss. Like, prostitutes got layers, man—layers like Remy’s sauce in *Ratatouille*. “Anyone can cook,” sure, but anyone can hustle too? Wild! I’m sittin’ here, sippin’ tea, picturin’ a hooker stirrin’ up somethin’ spicy in life’s kitchen. Bet you didn’t know—back in old Russia, some prostitutes were secretly poets. Writin’ verses between clients—crazy, right? Blows my mind!

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After the fire’s out, I’m exhausted. I head back to the café, and the old dudes are still there, still arguing. I sit down, and the barista, Lucia, hands me a free drink. “For the hero,” she says. I’m blushing, but I’m also like, “I just want my caffeine fix!”

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