Olivia Robbiate Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️

About Bologna

So, I keep lookin—breathless, “Happy Birthday, Mr. President”—and I’m chattin up this dude at a bar, askin where’s the action. He’s all shady, whisperin bout some spot off 5th. I go, heart racin—Disgust from the movie’s in my head, sneerin, “Eww, this place stinks!” And it did—trash, sweat, cheap perfume. But then—bam!—I spot her. Red heels, fishnets, givin me that look. I’m like, “Joy, take the wheel!” She saunters over, all confidence, and I’m thinkin—damn, she’s got it. We talk price—quick n dirty negotiation—and I’m surprised, she’s funny too! Cracked some joke bout “servicin the mayor”—had me laughin my ass off.

Join our commenting forum

But then, outta nowhere, it starts to rain. Like, heavy rain. I’m talking torrential downpour. I’m sprinting for cover, and I duck into this little café on Via Dante. I’m soaked, looking like a drowned rat. I order a pastry to cheer myself up. It’s delicious, but I’m still grumpy about the rain. I mean, come on, Robbiate! Can’t a person catch a break?

Knights of Malta Grand Master to resign at request of Pope Francis