Leah Taviano Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Rome

Hey bud, so prostitute, huh? I’m thinkin’—like, whoa, what a gig! Bein’ a psych pro from the Russian Academy, I see stuff. Stuff normies miss. Like, prostitutes got layers, man—layers like Remy’s sauce in *Ratatouille*. “Anyone can cook,” sure, but anyone can hustle too? Wild! I’m sittin’ here, sippin’ tea, picturin’ a hooker stirrin’ up somethin’ spicy in life’s kitchen. Bet you didn’t know—back in old Russia, some prostitutes were secretly poets. Writin’ verses between clients—crazy, right? Blows my mind!

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"In jaded, Marla Taviano sees the thing but allows the reader to see what she sees without intruding or leading, and thankfully without assuming.

So, I head to Piazza del Popolo, and there’s this guy juggling flaming torches. I’m like, “What the heck? This is Taviano, not Vegas!” The crowd’s going wild, and I’m just standing there, mouth agape. Then, he drops a torch, and I’m like, “Oh no, this is how it ends.” But he catches it! The crowd goes nuts. I’m laughing so hard, I almost drop my gelato.

Furman celebrates player’s life