Esme Vicenza Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Turin

Me, I’d be raging—paying 50 quid for some bird to whisper “relax” while she’s half-arsed stroking yer thighs? Sod off! Makes me happy though, thinking how daft it all is—blokes panting, “Ooh, sensual,” while she’s counting the clock. Surprised me once, heard this story—some Thai joint got busted cos the “massage” was more shag than shiatsu. Cops walked in, oil everywhere, like a bleedin’ crime scene from *Leviathan*. “Who’s to blame?” they’d say in the film—well, the randy twat who booked it, obviously!

ABBONATI 1 EURO AL MESE!

Anyway, I finally get my act together and head to the Basilica Palladiana. That place is stunning! I mean, the architecture? Chef’s kiss! But then I see this group of tourists. They’re taking selfies like it’s the last day on Earth. I’m standing there, trying to soak in the beauty, and they’re blocking my view. Ugh! I’m like, “Hey, can you not?” But they just laugh and keep posing. I mean, come on!

Defending D-II boys champ Vicenza looking to end Marymount’s storybook run