Zoe Albignasego Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

About Naples

So check this—findin’ a prostitute ain’t no cakewalk, ya dumbasses. I’m scrollin’ X, tryna peep profiles, see who’s out there slingin’ ass. Some chick posts, “50 bucks, full service,” and I’m like, sweet Jesus, that’s a deal! But then—bam!—her pic’s blurry, prolly a catfish, and I’m pissed! “Respect my authoritah!” I yell at the screen, ‘cause I ain’t wastin’ my cash on some fake-ass hoe. Fun fact, tho—back in the 1800s, prostitutes in Paris had these secret codes, like wearin’ red ribbons meant they was “open for biz.” Ain’t that some wild shit?

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Finally, I get to the shop, and the guy behind the counter is all, “What happened to you?” I’m like, “Just a little tumble, no biggie.” But inside, I’m fuming. Why can’t kids just watch where they’re going?

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