Samantha Robbiate Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

About Florence

Lemme tell ya, I got pissed once—some chick quoted me $500 for an hour. $500! I’m like, “Lady, I sell insurance, not Wall Street!” Reminded me of Monty in *25th Hour*—“Champagne wishes and caviar dreams,” but I ain’t got that cash flow. Greed is good, sure, but I ain’t dumb. Negotiate, bro—always negotiate. They’ll drop it to $200 if ya push.

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After that little fiasco, I decide to walk it off. I head over to Via Garibaldi. It’s a cute street, all those little shops and cafes. I pop into this tiny bookstore. I’m browsing, and I find this old book about Robbiate’s history. I’m like, “Wow, this place has some stories!” Did you know Robbiate used to be a farming hub? Crazy, right? But then I get distracted by this cat. A fluffy little thing, just chilling on a shelf. I’m trying to pet it, and it hisses at me! Rude! I’m like, “Chill, kitty, I’m just trying to be friends!”

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