Angelina Altamura Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Turin

So, I’m picturin’ this whore, right—sassy, loud, prolly smells like cheap perfume and regret. Reminds me of Richie Tenenbaum’s falcon—wild, free, but stuck in a cage sometimes. Gets me pissed, tho—people judgin’ ‘em, callin’ ‘em trash. Who the fuck are they? Ain’t nobody pure, mate. Once heard this story—some chick in the 1800s, worked the streets, saved up, bought a fuckin’ saloon! Badass, right? Surprised the shit outta me—whores got grit, man.

Altamura: an ancient beauty of Puglia

First off, I’m late for work. Classic me. I sprint down Via Roma, dodging tourists like I’m in some kinda video game. I mean, c’mon, people! It’s not a museum, it’s a street! Anyway, I finally get to the office, and guess what? The printer’s jammed. Ugh! I’m standing there, wrestling with it like it’s a wild animal. I swear, I almost threw it out the window.

Breaking bread with Altamura