Abigail Vanzaghello Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Palermo

Alright, so here’s the deal with whores—yeah, I said it, whores! Tina Fey comin’ at ya, snarky as hell, “I can see Russia from my house!” vibe. Whores, man, they’re everywhere, always have been, right? Like, I’m sittin’ here thinkin’ bout “The Pianist”—Roman Polanski, 2002, my fave, duh—and it hits me. Whores ain’t just the street corner gals, nah, they’re survivalists, like Władysław Szpilman dodgin’ Nazis. “I must go on living,” he says, and whores? Same energy. They’re hustlin’, scrapin’ by, dodgin’ society’s bullshit judgments.

Comune di Vanzaghello

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Anyway, I shake it off and head to the café. I’m thinking, “A nice cappuccino will fix this.” But guess what? The barista, Luca, spills hot milk all over the counter. I mean, come on, dude! It’s not rocket science! I’m just trying to enjoy my morning, and now I’m dodging dairy like it’s a game of dodgeball.

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