Grace Somma Lombardo Brothel ❤️❤️

About Bologna

Brothels got secrets, they do—walls talkin’ if you listen. Heard ‘bout one with a trapdoor—hid whiskey durin’ prohibition, sneaky bastards! Exaggeratin’ maybe, but picturin’ it—booze and boobs, hah, livin’ the dream! Gets me thinkin’—would I go? Nah, mate—peaks over sheets any day. Too old for that noise, I am—knees creak louder than brothel bedsprings!

The charge is exploitation of prostitution and aiding and abetting illegal immigration.

After that, I’m just done. I need a break. So, I head to the park near the church, you know, the one on Piazza della Libertà. I sit on a bench, trying to catch my breath. The view is nice, though. The mountains in the background, the trees swaying. It’s peaceful. But then, I see this kid flying a kite. And I’m like, “Man, I wish I could be that carefree.”

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