Layla Gussago Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Rome

Found this one gal—*mimes tippin’ hat*—all red lipstick, leanin’ on a lamppost. “Got any dough?” she says, smirkin’. I’m like—*mumbles, pats pockets*—“Only bread dough!” She laughs, nearly falls off them heels—*imitates wobbly prossie*—cracked me up, mate! Felt all happy, like when I nail a sourdough. But then—*frowns, kicks air*—some drunk git yells at her, “You’re filth!” Made me mad—*grrr, shakes fist*—who’s he to judge? Ain’t his coffee plantation burnin’ down, like in *White Material*. “Everything’s falling apart!” Isabelle’d say—prossie’s life too, innit?

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So, I shake it off and head to the market. Gussago’s got this dope little market on Piazza della Libertà. Fresh fruits, veggies, and all that jazz. I’m eyeing some tomatoes, thinking, “These are gonna be my saving grace.” But then, I see this dude, Marco, trying to haggle like he’s on some reality show. “C'mon, man, I’ll give ya two euros for these!” The vendor’s like, “Bro, these are organic! You can’t just lowball me!” I’m cracking up. Marco’s got guts, I’ll give him that.

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