Abigail Montale Brothel ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Bologna

So, picture this dive – stinks of cheap perfume, sweat, desperation. Blokes stumblin in, pissed off their nut, thinkin they’re kings. Makes me wanna puke, but it’s bloody fascinatin too! Little known fact – back in Victorian times, right, brothels had secret tunnels. Toffs’d sneak in, bang some lass, then scarper! Mad, eh? Imagine that now – some Tory MP divin through a sewer to shag. Priceless!

Usted vio recientemente

William Faulkner on ruthlessness (“If a writer has to rob his mother he will not hesitate”), his ideal job (“landlord in a brothel”), and the Art of Fiction.

Then I hit up the local market on Piazza della Libertà. It’s buzzing! Fresh fruits, veggies, and the smell of pastries wafting through the air. I’m like a kid in a candy store. I grab some of those bomb cannoli. OMG, they’re heavenly! But then, I see this dude trying to haggle over a tomato. A TOMATO! I mean, c’mon man, it’s not like it’s a rare artifact. Just buy it and move on!

Patchouli Leaves by Montale