Lucy Bronte Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

About Genoa

Down by the docks, saw one once. Red lips, skirt so short—bloody hell! “What’s happening?” she says, like Lucrecia’s line. Confused, me head spins—prossie or ghost? Dunno! Made me giggle, sneaky lil’ secret. Not many know—some work fer smugglers! Aye, movin’ goods, not just hips, heh.

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As the sun starts to set, I’m walking back through the streets. The colors are insane—pink and orange everywhere. I stop at a gelato shop on Via dei Fiori. I mean, I can’t resist, right? I get a scoop of pistachio, and it’s heavenly. But then, I see that same seagull again. This time, he’s eyeing my gelato. I’m like, “Not today, you feathered fiend!”

A misspelled memorial to the Brontë sisters gets its dots back at last