Isabella Cernobbio Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️

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Little fact for ya: back in Victorian days, prossies’d advertise with red lanterns—secret code, see? Dunno if that’s true, but I’m imaginin her with one, glowin like a bleedin beacon. “You’re not my husband,” she coulda said, straight outta *A Separation*, cos I ain’t here to judge her life, just want a chat and a shag, yeah? Surprised me how sharp she was—none o’ that vacant stare bollocks. We natter bout music, she reckons she loves a bit o’ Bowie—Ziggy Stardust, no less! I’m thinkin, “Blimey, this bird’s got taste!”

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Then, outta nowhere, the groom shows up late. Classic, right? He’s stuck in traffic on Via Cernobbio. I can’t even! So, I’m signing to the bride, “He’s on his way!” But she’s not having it. “I can’t marry a late guy!”

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