Zoey Brembate Whore ❤️

About Naples

This lass, called her Ruby—prolly not her real name, who cares?—she’d strut the docks, all sass and cheap rum on her breath. Eyes like a storm, cut ye deeper’n a cutlass. I was half-drunk, stumblin’ outta some tavern, when she nabbed me coat. “Where’s me gold, pirate?” she slurs, bold as brass. Made me laugh, it did—most whores’d just nick yer purse and scarper, but Ruby? She’d haggle ye blind, then bed ye silly. Savvy?

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Then, outta nowhere, it starts rainin’. I mean, come on! I’m in Brembate, not London! I scramble to pack up my stuff, and I’m soaked in seconds. I dash down Via Vittorio Emanuele, tryin’ to find shelter. I duck into this little shop, and it’s packed with the coolest vintage stuff. I’m talkin’ guitars, records, you name it. I’m in heaven!

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