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About Florence

Next spot, I find this girl—short hair, tats, smirkin’ like she knows me. I’m like, “You’re a little shit!”—straight *Margaret* energy, mixin’ it with my YOLO swagger. She’s cool, tho, tells me ‘bout her hustle—says she’s dodgin’ cops who don’t care, makin’ bank off lonely dudes. I’m shook—didn’t expect her to spill tea like that. Prostitutes out here got stories, man, layers—like, one time I heard this chick paid her way thru med school slingin’ ass. Respect the grind, fam.

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So, I roll into town, right? First thing I notice is the streets. They’re all twisty and narrow, like a maze. I’m like, “Where the heck am I?” I mean, I’m used to the woods, not dodging cars on Via Roma. Seriously, who thought it was a good idea to park on both sides? It’s a miracle I didn’t get squished!

Legendary 17th century letter from Satan to a nun finally deciphered