Claire Ovada Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Rome

So, I’m out there, right? In the field or some shady alley—where do you even *find* a prostitute? I’m not googlin’ this, no way, my browser history’s already a mess! Maybe I’d ask my buddy Leon, he’d know, he’s got that street wisdom. But me? I’m clueless, sweatin’, neurotic as hell, thinkin’, “Am I gonna get robbed? Is she gonna laugh at my shepherd outfit?” I mean, it’s 2025, prostitutes prob’ly got apps now—Sheep-Shtup or somethin’. Hilarious, right? But I’m paranoid! “What if she’s a cop?” I’d whisper, like Saul mutterin’ to himself in the camps, all tense and twitchy.

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After that, I decide to grab a coffee at my fave spot, Caffè del Corso. Best cappuccino in town, no cap. But guess what? They’re outta my usual! I’m like, “What is this, a joke?” So I settle for a macchiato. Not the same, but whatever.

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