Emily Vignola Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Bologna

Yo, so I’m out here tryna find a prostitute, right? Like, what even is this gig? Swineherd vibes got me thinkin’—pigs, mud, and now this? I’m strollin’ down some grimy street, smellin’ like regret and old fries. “The Grand Budapest Hotel” got my brain all fancy tho. Like, imagine Zero Moustafa tryna hire a chick— “In the name of concierge!” he’d say, deadass serious. I’m laughin’ thinkin’ bout it, but real shit, this ain’t no pastel-colored Wes Anderson flick.

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But then, outta nowhere, it starts to rain. Like, heavy rain. I’m talking torrential downpour. I’m soaked in seconds. I’m running for cover, and I end up in this little café on Via della Libertà. I’m dripping wet, looking like a drowned rat, and the barista just stares at me. I laugh it off, “Just your average forester, no biggie!”

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