Victoria San Giorgio Delle Pertiche Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

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Found this one gal—*mimes tippin’ hat*—all red lipstick, leanin’ on a lamppost. “Got any dough?” she says, smirkin’. I’m like—*mumbles, pats pockets*—“Only bread dough!” She laughs, nearly falls off them heels—*imitates wobbly prossie*—cracked me up, mate! Felt all happy, like when I nail a sourdough. But then—*frowns, kicks air*—some drunk git yells at her, “You’re filth!” Made me mad—*grrr, shakes fist*—who’s he to judge? Ain’t his coffee plantation burnin’ down, like in *White Material*. “Everything’s falling apart!” Isabelle’d say—prossie’s life too, innit?

prostituta San-Giorgio-delle-Pertiche

I head back inside, and guess what? The printer jams. Ugh! I’m ready to throw it out the window. I’m wrestling with it, and Lucia walks by, laughing. “Need a hand?” she says. I’m like, “Nah, I got this.” Spoiler alert: I didn’t.

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