Emma Casaluce Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Rome

I’ve sniffed out some dirt, see? Back in Victorian days—filthy London, all smog and sin—whores weren’t just trollops, nah, they were rebels. Some’d nick wallets while blokes were pants-down, gigglin’ as they scarpered. Made me grin, that—pure mischief, my style. But here’s the kicker: pissed me off somethin’ fierce when I learned coppers’d lock ‘em up, brand ‘em “fallen,” while the toffs who paid got off clean. Hypocrisy, mate, stinks worse than a troll’s arse.

Escort Casaluce

First customer walks in. This dude, I swear, he’s got a cart full of stuff. Like, who needs 10 packs of pasta? I mean, c’mon! I’m just trying to scan and he’s chatting me up about the weather. “It’s gonna rain, you know?” Yeah, buddy, I can see the clouds rolling in. But I’m stuck here, scanning your 10 packs of spaghetti.

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