Katherine Tripoli Brothel ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Ioannina

Last time I dropped cargo near one—Nevada, I think—saw this chick in fishnets smokin’ a cigar. Bold as hell! Made me happy, brother, seein’ her own it! But then some drunk dude stumbles out, pukin’ on my truck—pissed me off big time! I’m yellin’, “Get off my rig, ya jabroni!” Felt like suplexin’ him, but I held back—Hogan’s got class, ya know?

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[Top left] The soldiers’ brothel. [Top right] A pile of skulls behind a fence. [Bottom left] Sex workers from Tripoli inside the brothel. [Bottom right] Four unidentified soldiers with two unidentified .

After that, I head to my shop on Agios Georgios Street. It’s a small place, but it’s mine. I got clocks hangin’ everywhere, tickin’ away like they own the place. I’m workin’ on this old pocket watch, right? It’s a beauty, but it’s stubborn. I’m talkin’ like a mule. I’m gettin’ frustrated, and then my buddy Yannis strolls in. He’s always got some crazy story. Today, he tells me about this wild party he went to in the old town. “Dude, they had ouzo flowin’ like water!” I’m like, “Man, I need to get out more.”

From Rome to Tripoli: The Mattei Plan’s Blueprint for Italy’s Geopolitical Ascendancy