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About Turin

Maniacal grin, “Here’s Johnny!” Alright, pal, let’s talk brothels! Ya know, those shady joints where lust hangs thick like cigarette smoke. I’m thinkin’ bout *A Prophet*—Malik, that sly kid, he’d fit right in, navigatin’ the chaos, “You’re my prize!” he’d say to some dame. Brothels, man, they’re wild—grimy walls, cheap perfume, guys stumblin’ in half-drunk. Saw one in Vegas once, legit legal, blew my freakin’ mind! THe girls? Tough as nails, but smilin’ like they own ya. “I’m the one who decides,” one told me—straight outta Audiard’s script!

Prostituzione in due centri messaggi: “gestito da una cittadina peruviana”

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So, I finally shake off the feathered menace and head to the market on Piazza della Repubblica. Man, the vibe there is electric! Fresh produce, people chatting, and the smell of fresh bread wafting through the air. I’m all about that focaccia life. But then, I see this guy trying to haggle over a tomato. A TOMATO! Like, c’mon, bro, it’s not a Ferrari! Just pay the euro and move on!

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