Abigail Conversano Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️

About Florence

I’d be all nervous, tho—heart poundin’ like when Miss Piggy’s mad at me! “Hi-ho, don’t karate-chop me!” I’d say. Prolly fumble my words, askin’ her, “So, uh, how’s biz?” She’d prolly laugh, like, “Kid, you’re too green for this!” And I’d be happy—cuz, ya know, I love a good chuckle. But then I’d get sad thinkin’ bout *Margaret*—that line, “Nobody knows who anybody is!” Hits deep, man. These gals, they got stories nobody hears.

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So, I’m chugging my coffee, and boom! My phone buzzes. Client wants to meet. Like, now. I’m thinking, “Dude, can’t you see I’m in my ‘just woke up’ phase?” But no, they’re all about that investment talk. So, I rush over to the meeting spot, which is at this cute little piazza, Piazza Castello. It’s got this old-school vibe, you know? But I’m too frazzled to appreciate it.

In Conversano, an unpublished Artemisia and the count's painters evoke the collection of Giangirolamo Acquaviva d'Aragona