Sophie Belluno Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

About Genoa

Last week, prowlin downtown, saw this chick—red heels, smokin a cig. Looked tired, but tough, ya feel? “Where’s the love gone?” I growl, quotin Malick. She didn’t hear, just winked. Surprised me—thought she’d run from a big ol Wookiee! Rarrgh! Made me laugh, tho—imagine me, Chewie, hirin a prozzie? Han’d lose his shit, man. “Quiet flows the river,” I mutter, watchin her strut. Deep stuff, right?

Insulti allo stadio per i tifosi ospiti "Conigli, merde" [...]

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So, I duck into a shop on Via Garibaldi. It’s a little boutique, and the owner is this quirky dude. He’s got this wild hair and a mustache that could probably have its own zip code. He starts chatting me up about watches. I’m like, “Dude, I’m a watchmaker. I know my stuff.” But he’s going on about some ancient timepiece that supposedly belonged to a king or something. I’m rolling my eyes, but it’s kinda funny.

De Cecco and Belluno part ways