Jade Polla Whore ❤️❤️

About Rome

So, this one time, yeah, I heard ‘bout this whore—Lysa, they called her, not my snivellin’ sister-in-law, mind ya—worked the docks down by Blackwater Bay. Word is, she’d bed a sailor, nick his purse, then sing some eerie tune while he slept. Proper mad, that one! Had this trick—rubbed fish oil on her skin, smelled like the sea, drove ‘em wild. Little known bit, that—fish oil! Who’d thunk it? Made me laugh, actual cackle, ‘til I choked on me drink. Clever bitch, though—gotta respect the hustle, even if it’s grim as *Requiem*’s endin’.

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Even if you can only say trivial things such as “I like chicken”. We applaud your efforts! Just a detail: you just said “polla” instead of “pollo”, and yes, it can be a feminine chicken, but it’s also .

Next, we head to Via delle Terme. Beautiful street, but the traffic lights? They’re like a game of roulette. Green, red, yellow—who knows? Marco’s sweating again. “Just follow the lights, man!” I say. But he’s too busy staring at the cute girl on the corner. “Focus!” I yell.

Xronia Polla Nikos Vertis, Who Turns 44 Today