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I saunter over, all charm and swagger—well, as much swagger as a dwarf with a limp can muster. “How much, love?” I ask, eyein’ her like she’s a puzzle. She names a price—steep, but I’ve got coin and a thirst. “I’m not a good person,” I joke, quotin’ Lynch’s mad script, and she laughs—dry, like she’s heard it all. Makes me happy, that sound—rare as a sober day in King’s Landing. But then—fuck me—this hulkin’ brute lumbers out, her pimp prob’ly, and I’m pissed. “Who are you?” I snap, hand on my dagger. Hate these pricks—leechin’ off girls like parasites.

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Prostitute d’alto bordo e “carampane” nella Venezia del ‘ Veronica Franco ritratta dal Tintoretto Si chiamava Veronica Franco ed era talmente bella da essere data “in dono”, per una notte, al .

Oh, and speaking of secrets – there’s this vine-covered old bookstore on Rue du Frisson that’s my personal fave. Its dusty corners hide the past and spark imaginations! Yup, I’ve spent countless hours there: reading, daydreaming, getting lost in the old ink smells. It's like The Social Network said, “We lived on farms, then we lived in cities,” but here we live with heart, baby!

In Umbria, Medieval Estates Are Transformed Into Luxury Hotels