Lina Rodengo Saiano Brothel ❤️

About Bologna

Well, helllo there, my tasty friend! Brothel, huh? Let’s dive in—messy, raw, real. I’ve seen ‘em, smelled ‘em, judged ‘em hard. Places where souls drift, like Bob in *Lost in Translation*. “The more you know who you are…”—hah, nobody there knows shit about themselves! Just bodies crashin’, cash flowin’, desperation hangin’ thick. I’d stroll in, all sharp suit and sharper grin, sizin’ up the room. Hannibal Lecter (fictional)—“I ate his liver with fava beans”—sees what others miss. The twitch in a girl’s eye, fear masked as flirtin’. Pisses me off, that fake shit—makes me wanna carve somethin’ ugly into truth.

Cabbies urged to accept card payments

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So, I’m outta bed, groggy as hell, and I hit the streets. First stop? Bar Italia on Via Roma. Gotta get my caffeine fix, right? I order a cappuccino, and the barista, this dude named Marco, spills half of it on the counter. I’m like, “Bro, I need that energy!” But he just laughs it off. Classic Marco.

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