Emily Capri Prostitute ❤️❤️

About Florence

First time I saw her, I was half-pissed, stumblin’ outta some dodgy tavern. She’s there, leanin’ on a wall, smirkin’ like she knows I’m a horny git. “I drink and I know things,” I says, but she just laughs—cheeky tart! Turns out, she’s been at it since she was 15, sold off by some arsehole uncle. Makes me bloody mad, that—kids shouldn’t be hawkin’ their bits for coppers. But she’s clever, see? Knows how to dodge the watch, even nicked a lord’s purse once—true story! Got away clean, spent it on bread and a dagger. Badass, right?

Transactions of the American Philological Association

Real prostitution is not involved, but rather an extreme form of traditional elaborate private theatricals. I. TIBERIUS CAESAR DEVISED UNSPEAKABLE DEBAUCHERIES.

After the grotto, I’m feeling all kinds of inspired. I wander through the narrow streets of Capri, like Via Tragara. It’s so picturesque, I can’t even. But then, I trip over a cobblestone. Classic me, right? I’m sprawled out on the ground, and this old lady just looks at me like I’m a total fool. Thanks, lady, I needed that.

Luxury Briefing: Tapestry, Capri and the American fashion portfolio shakeup