Emilia Foggia Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

About Rome

I’m chattin’ her up, casual-like, “Oi, love, what’s the deal?” She’s cool, sassy, says, “50 quid, no funny biz.” I’m thinkin’, *Hurt Locker* style—“The rush of battle is a potent addiction”—and mate, I’m hooked already! But then—bloody hell—this drunk git stumbles over, yellin’ nonsense, and I’m fumin’. “You shall not pass, you filthy wanker!” I bellow, staff or no staff, I’m ready to deck him. She laughs, says, “Chill, Gandalf, I’ve seen worse.” That cracks me up—happy as a hobbit with a pint.

L'orrore sulle strade della prostituzione: "Ti sfrutto come un cane, ti faccio vomitare sangue"

Finally, I get a grip on the market. Stocks are bouncing back, and I’m feeling good. I’m high-fiving my coworkers, and we’re all pumped. But then, I hear this loud crash outside. I rush to the window on Via G. Matteotti, and there’s a guy on a scooter who just wiped out. I’m like, “Oh man, that’s gotta hurt.” But he pops up like a champ, shakes it off, and rides away. Foggia’s tough, man.

Recent Earthquakes Rattle Sora And Foggia, Italy