Sofia Osimo Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️

About Rome

Then—bam!—I spot her. Red heels, smokin’ a cig. “She lived next door,” I whisper, movie-style. Nah, she don’t, but it fits! I’m all, “Hiya, toots!” She smirks—sassy! Costs more than donuts tho—$50?! D’oh! Robbery! I’m hagglin’ like it’s a flea market—got her to $40. Score! Felt happy, then guilty—stupid brain!

Leave a Comment

I rush over there, dodging tourists and their selfie sticks. Seriously, why do they think they can block the whole street? Anyway, I get to the property, and it’s a total dump. I mean, the roof looks like it’s been through a war. I’m trying to keep a straight face, but inside, I’m like, “What the heck, man?” My client is all excited, and I’m just nodding, thinking, “You’re gonna regret this.”

Obituary information for Margo J. Osimo