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About Florence

Oh, typo city – prositute, prostetute, fuck it, you get it. Hannibal’d say, “A crude symphony, but delicious.” Findin a prostitute’s gritty, raw – ain’t no Hollywood glow. Surprised me how normal it felt, like buyin a pint. Exaggeratin? Maybe, but who cares – it’s my fuckin tale, yeah? Chat soon, mate, gotta run – “I ate his liver with fava beans!”

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So, I’m feeling good, right? I stroll down Via Roma, soaking in the vibes. The cobblestones are all uneven, and I almost trip. Classic me. But then I see this street performer near the old church, Sant’Ambrogio. He’s playing the accordion, and it’s kinda magical. I toss him a couple of euros, and he gives me a nod like I just changed his life.

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