Aria Rivazzurra Whore ❤️

About Turin

Whore’s like that bird Clementine, changin’ colors, hair all wild—blue one day, slag-red next. We hates it! Tricksy, false thing, promisin’ sweet nothin’s then—bam!—gone like smoke. Once knew this lass, right, proper whore, worked the docks near old London. Fishy stench clung to her like a curse—called her Fish-Whore, ha! Stank so bad, sailors paid extra just to shut ‘er up. Made me laugh, that did, ‘til she nicked me last coin—fumin’ mad, I was!

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But then, the skies turn dark. Outta nowhere, it starts pouring! I’m talking torrential downpour. We sprint down Viale Regina Elena, laughing and slipping on the wet pavement. I’m soaked, but it’s hilarious. We duck into a café, and I order a hot chocolate. The barista looks at me like I’m crazy. “Hot chocolate? In summer?” I’m like, “Dude, it’s a vibe!”

The beach in Rimini: whether equipped or free is for everyone