Ellie Lizzanello Prostitute ❤️❤️

About Catania

Hate the noise she makes, clackin’ heels. Sounds like a damn woodpecker on meth. Saw one once, near my cabin—prostitute, not woodpecker. Offered me a “good time.” Told her I’d rather wrestle a bear. She laughed, I didn’t. “Tabu” gets it— “Her beauty was a cruel jest.” Cruel, alright. These gals got stories, though. Heard one started ‘cause her ma was a hooker too. Family biz, how sweet, right? Makes me wanna puke.

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So, I’m walking down Via G. Marconi, trying to shake off the morning grumpiness. I pass by this cute little bakery, Panificio Lizzanello. The smell of fresh bread hits me like a freight train. I can’t resist. I grab a couple of those bomb cornetti. You know, the flaky ones filled with cream? Heaven! But then, I spill some on my shirt. Classic me, right? Now I look like I’ve been in a food fight.

A different woman in Mussolini's Italy