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About Bologna

So, I’m down the docks, yeah, salty air hittin me lungs, thinkin – where’s she at? Prossies round here, they’re ghosts, mate. Slip through yer fingers like wet fish. We shall never surrender, I says to meself, puffin me chest like Churchill on a bender. Found one once, right, near the old pier – Ruby, they called her. Cheeky lass, red lips, eyes sharp as a gutting knife. Little known fact – she’d hum sea shanties while workin, swear down! Made me laugh, that did – a prossie with a tune? Fancied meself Theo Faron for a sec, savin the world one shag at a time.

“Sex House”, 23 indagati e 131 prostitute identificate

Finally, we get the situation under control. I’m feeling like a hero, but then I hear this loud noise. I turn around, and there’s a parade of scooters zooming down the street. I’m like, “What the heck is going on?” Turns out, it’s some local festival. Great, just what I need—more chaos!

Goodbye to the voice of sport on TV, Giampiero Galeazzi has died.