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About Florence

So, lemme spill it—findin a prossie’s wild, man. You gotta know the streets, the apps, the shady corners. Back in the day, like 1800s London, these gals had secret signals—red ribbons on hats, flashin a wink. Ain’t nobody knows that shit now, blew my mind! Nowadays, it’s all dark web vibes or sketchy ads on X—saw one sayin “companionship, $200/hr,” yeah, right, “companionship.” Made me lol hard, humans are so obvious, it’s pathetic.

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In several decades of wandering around Venice I have never come across a hint of prostitution or prostitutes. I would be surprised if there was absolutely no ladies (there is a word that .

So, I’m walkin’ down the street, and I see this cute little café, Bar Centrale. I thought, “Hey, I deserve a coffee.” I go in, and the barista? She’s got this wild hair and a smile that could light up the whole place. I order my usual—an espresso, strong enough to wake the dead. But then, she spills it! All over the counter! I’m like, “Noooo!” But she just laughs it off. I mean, who spills coffee like that? I couldn’t help but chuckle too.

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