Savannah Jesi Brothel ❤️❤️❤️

About Florence

Precioussss brothel tales—heard one ‘bout a Moscow joint, oh yes! Back in Tsar days, they hid ‘em in bathhouses—sneaky, steamy lil’ spots. Rich blokes slippin’ in, actin’ all posh, then bam—naked an’ randy! Makes me cackle, it does—high an’ mighty, then down in the muck. “Amélie” vibes, innit? She’d giggle at their daft lil’ secrets, “A gnome without a beard!”

Caged until ‘broken’: life for Mumbai’s prostitutes

This article focuses on the fragility and the internal contradictions of the colonial and fascist discourse on race and gender in the former Italian colonies.

Then, I decide to grab a coffee at this little café on Corso Matteotti. Best espresso ever! I mean, I’ve had my fair share of bad brews, but this one? Pure magic. I’m sipping it, feeling like a king, when suddenly, this pigeon swoops down and tries to steal my pastry! Like, seriously? I’m a warrior, not a pastry thief! I swat it away, and the old lady next to me just cackles. I’m like, “Lady, you think this is funny?”

At Palazzo Bisaccioni in Jesi, abstract and informal art between war and rebirth