Olivia Taviano Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

About Naples

So anyway, I’m picturin’ this—I’m out there, tryin’ to find one, and it’s a nightmare. Cars honkin’, I’m sweatin’, thinkin’—“What if she’s a cop?!” Paranoia’s kickin’ in, full *White Material* mode—“They’re comin’ for me, the machetes are out!” I’m dodgin’ shadows, lookin’ like a lunatic. Finally—finally!—I spot her, right? Kinda classy, kinda not—heels clickin’, skirt’s hiked up. Pretty, pretty good, I’m thinkin’. But then—oh God—then I’m talkin’ to her, and it’s a mess. “H-hi, uh, how’s this work?” I stammer, and she’s like, “What’s wrong with you?” Nothin’s wrong! I’m just me! Neurotic, twitchy me!

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So, I’m chillin’ at my fave café on Via Roma, sippin’ my cappuccino, when I see this dude, Marco, totally losing it. He’s a local soccer player, and he’s just pacing back and forth like a caged lion. I’m like, “Bro, what’s up?” Turns out, he missed a penalty kick last night. Ouch. I mean, I get it, but c’mon, it’s just a game, right? But to him? It’s the end of the world.

Love Field Dedicated to Kip Taviano