Victoria Pisticci Brothel ❤️❤️

About Turin

Me, I’m torn, fam. Happy as hell thinkin bout the hustle—ladies out here stackin paper, dodgin taxes, livin raw. But pissed too—half these spots, girls ain’t choose it. Forced in, trapped, fucked up. “What new world is this?”—movie line, hits hard. Makes you wonder, yo. Who’s runnin shit? Pimps? Johns? Laws? All of em, probly. Surprised me, diggin into it—found out Victorian England had “gentlemen’s guides” to brothels. Ratings n shit, like Yelp for hookers. Absurd, bro. Who’s writin that? “Two stars, smelled like gin”?

Gentlemen’s Club Bangkok

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Next, I wander over to the old castle ruins. Castello di Pisticci, right? It’s kinda cool, but also kinda creepy. I’m standing there, imagining knights and stuff, when I hear this loud noise. Turns out, it’s just some kids playing soccer. They’re kicking the ball around like it’s the World Cup. I can’t help but laugh.

The Irvington Residents Behind NYC’s Pisticci Trattoria Strive to Do Good