Bella Sommatino Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Florence

Alright, mate, so I’m a mountain guide, yeah? Out there in the wild, roamin’ peaks, breathin’ crisp air—bloody brilliant. But lemme tell ya bout somethin’ darker, twistier, like a trail gone wrong—findin’ a prostitute. Ain’t talkin’ bout no fancy escort ad, nah, this is raw, gritty, real shit. Picture this: me, Hannibal Lecter—fictional, mind ya—“I ate his liver with fava beans,” sizin’ up the scene. You don’t just stumble on ‘em, see? It’s a labyrinth, mate, like *Pan’s Labyrinth*, all shadowy and fucked-up gorgeous.

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Then, I get this wild idea. I’m gonna help him! So, I start picking up oranges, and he’s like, “You’re a good kid!” I’m not a kid, dude! I’m in my thirties! But whatever, I’m feeling all heroic and stuff. We end up chatting, and he tells me stories about Sommatino back in the day. Like, did you know they used to have a big festival for the harvest? I mean, I love a good party, but I’ve never seen one.

Blues over Red Room closing