Emma Frignano Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Bologna

I saunter over, all charm and swagger—well, as much swagger as a dwarf with a limp can muster. “How much, love?” I ask, eyein’ her like she’s a puzzle. She names a price—steep, but I’ve got coin and a thirst. “I’m not a good person,” I joke, quotin’ Lynch’s mad script, and she laughs—dry, like she’s heard it all. Makes me happy, that sound—rare as a sober day in King’s Landing. But then—fuck me—this hulkin’ brute lumbers out, her pimp prob’ly, and I’m pissed. “Who are you?” I snap, hand on my dagger. Hate these pricks—leechin’ off girls like parasites.

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After that, I needed a pick-me-up. So, I hit up Gelateria Frignano. Best gelato in town, no contest. I get a scoop of pistachio and a scoop of stracciatella. Heaven in a cone, I swear! I sit outside, enjoying my gelato, and just people-watch. There’s this couple arguing nearby. Classic Italian drama! I’m trying not to laugh, but it’s hard. They’re waving their hands, and I’m just here, like, “Get a room, you two!”

Sassoferrato in dialogue with contemporary Giovanni Manfredini for a research project