Sofia Cogoleto Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Bari

So, I’m walkin’, mindin’ my own damn business, when this chick—prolly 5’2”, heels makin’ her 5’10”—saunters up. “Hey, big guy, need company?” she purrs. I’m thinkin’, lady, I’d rather skin a bear with a spoon. “I don’t pay for that,” I grunt, deadpan as hell. She laughs, like I’m some chump. Pisses me off. Hate everything about it—fake giggles, cheap perfume stingin’ my nose. Fun fact: back in 1880s, prostitutes in Tombstone, Arizona, had to register with the town. Called ‘em “soiled doves.” Ain’t that poetic? Still stinks like desperation.

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As the sun sets, I’m walking back along the beach. The sky is painted in pinks and oranges, and I’m just soaking it all in. I think about how crazy today was. From seagulls to sandcastles, to coffee spills and market vibes. Cogoleto, you’ve got my heart.

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