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About Turin

So, I’m strollin downtown, hungry – not for liver, ha! – lookin for a hooker. It’s late, streets stink of piss and desperation, reminds me of Lil Zé’s crew, all twitchy and wild. I spot her, leanin on a wall, smokin a cig like she owns the night. “What’s good, darlin?” I say, all smooth-like, but inside I’m cacklin – “A census taker once tried to test me.” She smirks, sizes me up, says, “50 bucks, big boy.” Fifty fuckin bucks! Made me mad, mate, inflation’s a bitch, but I’m like, fine, whatever, let’s roll.

Contatta le Escort a Caneva

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So, I’m crunching numbers, right? And then, boom! Power goes out. Just my luck. I’m sitting there in the dark, thinking about how I should’ve brought a flashlight. I mean, it’s Caneva, not a horror movie! I can’t even see my spreadsheets. I’m about to lose it.

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