Vanessa Ponte A Ema Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Florence

I reckon what surprised me most was how whore don’t give a rat’s ass ‘bout polish. It’s messy, rough—like Yubaba’s cackle, all jagged edges. And I love it! Reminds me o’ that line, “Somethin’ you wouldn’t recognize—it’s called love.” Whore’s got heart, y’all, even if it’s glitchy as hell. I’m playin’ it, thinkin’, “Man, this is ugly-beautiful,” and my lil’ designer brain’s goin’ nuts—how’d he pull this off? Prolly cried a river when it shipped, too. I’d’a hugged him, but I’d spill my sweet tea.

You’re Temporarily Blocked

Then, I head to the local bar on Via di Ponte a Ema. I need a drink after that madness. I order a spritz, and the bartender, Marco, is like, “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” I laugh and tell him about my day. He’s cracking up, and I’m feelin’ better.

‘I always come back from Chianti a kilo or two heavier'