Charlotte Progresso Brothel ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Florence

Oi, you donkey! Brothel, yeah? Texture artist here, mate, and I’m bloody raging! Picture this – dim lights, tacky velvet, smells like cheap perfume and regret. Reminds me of *Far From Heaven*, that lush 50s vibe, all perfect on the outside, rotting underneath. “I’m going to make a life here!” – bollocks, more like a living hell! Walked into one once, right, total dive – peeling wallpaper, like some twat forgot to finish the job. Idiot sandwich! The carpets? Sticky, stained, a bloody crime scene of bad decisions.

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First up is Marco. Kid’s 17, thinks he’s the next F1 champ. He hops in the car, all cocky. I’m like, “Dude, chill. You gotta learn to drive before you can drift.” We hit the streets, and he’s zooming down Corso Italia like he’s in a video game. I’m gripping the “oh crap” handle, praying we don’t end up in the canal.

Leftovers: General Mills drops Progresso into candy | Ragu fires up Hot Ones pasta sauce