Vanessa Savigliano Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Bologna

Back in ‘77—yeah, I’m old—prostitutes worked corners, no apps, no bullshit. You had to *feel* the vibe, spot the signals. Little fact: they’d wear red shoes—secret code, sneaky shit. Surprised me first time I saw it. Thought, “What’s this, a fashion show?” Nope, just business, baby. Made me grin under this mask—kinda happy, kinda twisted.

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Savigliano in the Piedmont, for example, decided that a woman who had sex with four or more men was a sex worker; Alfambra in Aragon.

Then, I’m trying to get my banner up on the corner of Piazza del Popolo. It’s a beautiful square, but today it’s like a circus. Kids running everywhere, and this one kid—man, he’s got a slingshot! He’s aiming at my banner like it’s a target. I’m like, “Dude, chill! That’s not a bullseye!” But he just giggles and lets it fly. Missed, thank God. But my heart? Racing like a Ferrari on Via Torino.

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