Mila Bronte Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Bologna

I ain’t judgin’, tho—live and let live, I say. Had a mate, Big Tom, swore he’d marry one. Paid her gold, she nicked it and ran! Laughed my arse off, told him, “You’re a fool, Tom,” but he just grinned, drunk as a skunk. Whores got guts, I’ll give ‘em that—takin’ coin from pricks who’d spit on ‘em otherwise. Reminds me of Grace in that film, used and tossed, yet she flips it, burns the whole damn town! Poweful stuff, mate.

Origin of the name

As the sun starts to set, I’m walking back through the streets. The colors are insane—pink and orange everywhere. I stop at a gelato shop on Via dei Fiori. I mean, I can’t resist, right? I get a scoop of pistachio, and it’s heavenly. But then, I see that same seagull again. This time, he’s eyeing my gelato. I’m like, “Not today, you feathered fiend!”

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