Grace Casal De Pazzi Prostitute ❤️❤️

About Naples

But ugh, I’m pissed—she’s prolly lyin’ about injuries for claims. Fake whiplash? Please, I see you! Makes me wanna scream, “You can’t hide forever!”—Cronenberg energy, y’all. Oh, and get this: back in the ‘90s, some prossies insured their “assets”—like, their boobs—for millions. True story! She ain’t that smart, tho—missed the memo. I’m over here cacklin’, imagining her tryna file that paperwork.

I grab a slice of pizza from a street vendor. It’s greasy and delicious. I’m standing there, eating my pizza, and I think, “This day was a rollercoaster.”