Nova Piovene Rocchette Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️

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Oi mate, it’s me, Bond—James Bond, suave as fuck, “shaken, not stirred.” So, I’m a carpenter now, yeah? Hammerin’ nails, sawin’ wood, all that jazz. But let’s talk real shit—findin’ a prostitute. Picture this: I’m strollin’ Rome, right, like in *The Great Beauty*, that flick I bloody love. “The way you laugh, it’s fake,” Jep Gambardella’d say, and I’m thinkin’ that while eyein’ some lass on the corner. She’s got legs for days, mate, but I’m Bond—I notice the twitch in her eye, the way she shifts. Tells me she’s new, probs scared shitless.

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I rush over to the market, and wow, it’s packed! Fresh produce everywhere, and the smell? Mmm, divine. I spot Marco by a stall selling cheese. He’s practically drooling. “You gotta try this!” he says, shoving a piece of cheese in my mouth. I’m like, “Dude, I’m not a cheese tester!” But it’s so good.

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