Ellie Cesano Boscone Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Genoa

So, picture this—dark alley, stinks o’ piss. We hates it! This lass, she’s there, all tarted up. “What’s yer price, love?” I croaks. She eyes me like I’m a bleedin’ toad. Fair enough—I am! Made me mad, tho. Why’s she judgin’? I got coin, don’t I? Little fact—back in Victorian times, prossies had secret signals. Hand on hip meant “I’m game.” Hers was glued there, ha!

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Anyway, I get to the center, and it’s packed. Like, standing-room-only packed. I’m thinking, “Great, more people means more energy!” But then, bam! The power goes out. Just like that. I’m standing there, in the dark, with a bunch of deaf folks looking at me like, “What now?” I’m like, “Uh, I guess we’re doing this old-school?”

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