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About Bologna

So, picture this—I’m cruisin’ downtown, late night, neon lights flashin’. Kinda like Silicon Valley, but dirtier. I’m wonderin’, how’s this even work? You don’t just Google “prostitute near me,” right? Or do ya? Ha! Maybe there’s an app now—swipe right for a good time. Nah, I’m kiddin’, but am I? Anyway, I see this gal—heels high, skirt short—standin’ by a lamppost. Classic, right? Like a scene from some gritty ’80s movie. I’m thinkin’, “Is this for real?” She’s got that look—tough, tired, but sharp. Reminds me of Eduardo in the movie, y’know? “I was your only friend.” Bet she’s got stories—clients stiffin’ her, cops hasslin’ her. Made me mad, thinkin’ about it—people treatin’ her like trash. She’s out here grindin’, same as anybody.

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Oh, and my fave secret spot? A tiny bar on Via Bruzzoli. It’s nearly invisible unless you’re in the inner circle. Seriously, you’d think it’s a mirage. I once had the best chat there about life with a cat-lovin’ bartender. Crazy stuff! I mean, life here is like a constant loop from Sofia Coppola’s plots, with every bizarre moment just drifting by like, “Who the heck even cares?” And yet... oh man, it’s beautiful.

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