Mari Balestrate Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Bologna

What pisses me off? Idiots who think it’s easy. Like, mate, you try hikin’ with blue balls! Surprised me how dumb some are—saw one slip, nearly died. “One more day,” he begged, like Monty in the flick. I just smirked—pathetic. Happiest I got? When this rich twat tipped me extra. Said he “found himself” up there. Yeah, right—found a hooker, more like.

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Then, I had a client meeting at a café on Via Madonna del Ponte. I was all set to help this lady find a dress for her daughter’s wedding. She was late, of course. I mean, c’mon, it’s Balestrate! You can’t be late to a meeting when the sun’s shining and the gelato’s calling! Finally, she shows up, and she’s like, “I need something fabulous!” I’m thinking, “Girl, we’re in a small town, not Milan!” But I kept my cool.

Marina di Balestrate, from theater of the absurd to marina