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About Florence

What surprised me? How damn organized it is. Pimp’s got schedules tighter than my clinic hours. Girls rotate corners like it’s a fuckin dance—8pm here, 10pm there. Saw one chick, maybe 19, countin crumpled bills under a busted lamp. Felt a twinge—happy she’s survivin, angry she has to. “The earth is not ours,” *Timbuktu* whispers, and yeah, she don’t own shit. Exaggeratin? Maybe. But I’d bet my last pill she’s tougher than half my team.

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So, I’m sittin’ there in the dark, tryin’ to figure out what to do. I pull out my phone, scrollin’ through social media. Everyone’s postin’ about the landslide, and I’m like, “Great, I’m famous now.” But then I see a post about a beach party at Lido Azzurro. I’m like, “Heck yes! I need this!”

Silvana La Rocca, stabbed to death in the garden: her son arrested, confessed