Addison Palermo Whore ❤️

About Milan

So, I’m thinkin’ of *Caché*, that creepy-ass Haneke flick I love—2005, mind ya. Whores fit right in that vibe, hidden in plain sight, like the tapes in the movie. “Who’s watching whom?”—that’s the line I’d toss in, ‘cause whores see everything, don’t they? They know the dirty secrets, the late-night whispers, the masks men wear. Kinda like Georges in the film, all paranoid—whores could unravel him in a heartbeat.

The Burning of a Sicilian Whore

The spirit of Palermo is evoked, referred to as a “big, fat whore”, a visceral description, not intended to be insulting. Menichelli fluidly.

So, I’m strolling down Via Roma, right? The sun’s shining, and I’m thinking, “Hey, maybe today’s the day I discover something groundbreaking!” Spoiler alert: it wasn’t. But I was pumped. I grab a coffee at this tiny café, Bar Focacceria, and the barista, this dude with a mustache that could rival a walrus, hands me a cappuccino that’s basically a work of art. I’m like, “Dude, you should be in a museum!”

Palermo’s Best Broth at La Casa del Brodo