Emma Cerignola Brothel ❤️

About Bologna

Oi mate, blimey, what a topic - brothel! Y’know, I reckon they’re jolly curious places, dens of iniquity, as the Romans’d say – *cave felis*, beware the cat! Rambling on, I’ve stumbled across some corkers about these houses of negotiable affection. Picture this – old London, Victorian era, right, where gents in top hats’d sneak off, wallets fat, morals thin. Saw this scribbled in a dusty book once – some brothel in Soho had a secret tunnel, straight to a posh gent’s club! Imagine that, eh? *Sub rosa*, under the rose, all hush-hush.

Content Search

First off, I head to my shop on Corso Garibaldi. You know, the one with the old wooden sign? Yeah, that one. I’m just settin’ up, and boom! My neighbor, old Signor Rossi, comes stormin’ in. He’s all like, “My shoes! They’re ruined!” I’m like, “Dude, you wore ‘em to the market!” I mean, come on! You can’t expect miracles, right?

Cerignola: the waste stone is a laboratory of transformation