Olivia Chiaiano Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

About Milan

In the end, I’d walk away, no sermon, no cash—just a nod. “Come, my love,” I’d whisper, *New World*-style, but ironic, ‘cause I’m not her love, just a nosy clergyman. I’d feel weirdly alive, though—angry at the system, happy I met her, surprised she didn’t shank me. “I can see Russia from my house!” I’d yell, laughin’, ‘cause I see *somethin’* now—grit, guts, the real damn world. Prostitutes ain’t just punchlines—they’re people, and I’m shook.

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Then, I spot my buddy Marco. He’s always hanging around the piazza, probably plotting his next pizza venture. We grab a slice at Pizzeria Da Michele. Best pizza in Chiaiano, no contest. I mean, the dough is like a fluffy cloud! We’re laughing, talking about life, and then he drops this bomb: “I’m moving to Milan.” WHAT?! I’m like, “Dude, you can’t leave Chiaiano! Who’s gonna keep the pizza game strong?”

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