Emilia Florence Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

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Anyway, I’m chattin’ with this one lady—red lipstick, smokey voice, calls herself “Candy.” I’m laughin’, thinkin’, “Is this chick for real?” She’s quotin’ prices like she’s sellin’ me a used Chevy. “Fifty bucks, Joe, and I’ll rock yer world!” I’m like, c’mon, man, I ain’t that green! Made me mad, tho—folks tryna hustle ya, takin’ advantage. But then she winks, and I’m crackin’ up—girl’s got charm, gotta give her that. “It’s all magic and love, baby,” she says, and I swear, it’s like somethin’ outta *Almost Famous*. I’m half expectin’ her to pull out a guitar and sing “Fever Dog.”

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Mass tourism has turned the Italian city of Florence into a “prostitute,” the director of Galleria dell'Accademia has said, sparking anger.

Folks here talk and walk quick. Like, sometimes I hear “The Master, man!” echoing when someone’s all excited or maybe just chillin’. Funny, huh? I once even witnessed a deep convo right outside the little cafe at 5th & Broad. I was thinkin’, “Wow, this city can make you feel like a floating marionette – strings and all!” And dang, did it ever get me pumped.

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