Leah Cesano Boscone Whore ❤️

About Bari

So, I’m Mr. Bean, right, *wiggles eyebrows, knocks over a mug*—oops!—and I see whore different, y’know? Not just some tart or slag, nah, it’s history, it’s grit! Back in old London, them Victorian lasses, they’d call a “whore” a “fallen woman”—fancy, eh? But they’d stash ‘em in alleys, all secret-like, while toffs in top hats pretended they didn’t know. Hypocrites, mate! Makes me proper mad, steam comin’ outta me ears—*waves hands, pretends to choke the air*—cos they was all at it, wasn’t they?

Link utili

As the sun sets over Cesano-Boscone, I’m feeling all kinds of emotions. Happy, nostalgic, a bit angry about the power outage, but mostly grateful. Grateful for the people, the moments, and the gelato.

How a Catholic Italian Became a Chabad Rabbi