Emma Solaro Whore ❤️

About Palermo

So, in my head, this whore’s a badass. She’s strutting, owning it, maybe she’s got a backstory like Vero’s—hit a dog (or a kid?) and just keeps walking. “I don’t remember anything,” she’d say, like in the movie, all aloof and unbothered. I love that—she’s messy, human, not some saint. Makes me happy thinking she’s out there, flipping off the haters. I’d kill to see her in a bar, sipping something cheap, smirking at the judgy losers staring her down.

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So, I finally grab some gelato—pistachio, my fave—and I’m walkin’ back to the beach. But guess what? I trip over a beach towel. I go down like a sack of potatoes. Gelato everywhere! I’m layin’ there, covered in melted ice cream, and all I can think is, “This is NOT how I wanted my day to go.”

The Connection Between Faith and Environmental Action