Savannah Scanzo Rosciate Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

About Florence

So, here’s the scoop—findin’ one’s easy if ya got cash. Streets, bars, sketchy alleys—pick yer poison. Me? I’d rather wrestle a bear than pay for that. Hate the hustle, the fake smiles, the stink of desperation. Reminds me of Saul, draggin’ corpses, mutterin’, “I’ve seen the end.” Little fact—back in ‘80s Vegas, pimps ran ads in phonebooks. Yellow pages, right next to plumbers. World’s gone soft since then—now it’s apps, dark web bullshit. Surprised me, honestly—thought folks’d stick to street corners.

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Finally get there, and my boss, Marco, is already in a mood. He’s pacing like a lion in a cage. “Where’s the new lathe?” he barks. I’m like, “Dude, chill. It’s on its way.” But he’s not having it. He’s all about that precision, you know? I get it, but sometimes you gotta breathe, man!