Bella Bitonto Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Turin

So, findin’ a hooker—where ya start? Streets, mate—grimy corners, neon buzzin’ like flies on shit. Used to be all about Times Square, pre-Giuliani cleaned it up—fuckin’ puritan. Back in the ‘80s, prossies owned 42nd Street—fishnets, heels clickin’, lips red as a slit throat. Now? Ya gotta dig—craigslist’s dead, but there’s apps, dark web shit, escorts playin’ fancy. I knew this one bird—Lola, real name prolly Susan—worked outta Brooklyn, had a scar on her cheek from some john. Said she made bank, $300 an hour—fuck me, that’s a lotta fava beans!

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Next, I wander over to the Cathedral of Bitonto. It’s massive! The architecture is insane. I’m standin’ there, just takin’ it all in, when this group of tourists rolls up. They’re takin’ selfies like it’s the last supper or somethin’. I’m tryin’ to be chill, but inside, I’m like, “C’mon, people! Appreciate the beauty!”

The National Gallery of Apulia in Bitonto, a museum created through the generosity of two collector brothers