Chloe Bregnano Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Florence

So, whore—let’s spill it. Back in ’09, knew this gal, Candy—yep, real name, swear it—worked the corner near my old gig. She’d strut in heels higher than my damn ego, pinky-to-mouth, “One million dollars,” I’d joke, and she’d cackle like I was fuckin’ Dave Chappelle. Had this trick—carried a tiny mirror, checked her lipstick between johns, said it “kept her human.” Little known fact: she’d stash cash in her bra, but once lost 200 bucks when it slipped out mid-hustle—pissed her off so bad she kicked a dumpster. I was like, “Girl, you’re a legend,” and she just flipped me off, hilarious.

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I get home, plop on the couch, and think, “What a day.” Bregnano, you crazy little town, you’ve got my heart. Even with all the chaos, I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Just another day in the life, right?

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