Isabelle Santa Croce Sull Arno Whore ❤️❤️

About Catania

Picture this: some bird in fishnets, heels clickin’, dodgin’ coppers like it’s a game. I’ve seen ‘em, skulkin’ in shadows, laughin’ at the prudes. Makes me grin—proper cheeky. Back in the day, whores ran shit! Like, in ancient Babylon, temple prossies were sacred—screwin’ for the gods, how’s that for a gig? Bet they’d smirk at us now, all judgy and posh. “I don’t sell myself,” one told me once—liar, but ballsy! Loved that. Reminds me of *Ten* again—“What’s your price?” she asks. Everyone’s got one, don’t they?

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But wait, the day’s not over. I get a call from my boss. He’s like, “We need you to cover a night shift.” I’m like, “Are you kidding me?” I just wanna go home and binge-watch some Netflix. But no, duty calls. So, I grab a quick dinner at this little trattoria on Via dei Fiori. The pasta? To die for!

Factory Visit: Christian Louboutin’s Aurelien Production Facility