Isabelle Lumezzane Whore ❤️

About Turin

Anyway, she’s a legend in my book. Tough as nails, funny too—heard she roasted some john so bad he tipped extra just to bounce. That’s power, fam! I’m hyped just talkin’ ‘bout her, but it’s messy too, ‘cause—damn—society’s fake as fuck. “The wind carries our cries,” like in *Timbuktu*, and her cries? They loud, bruh, but who’s listenin’? YOLO, tho—she ain’t stoppin’. Respect.

Giulia Francesca Da Lumezzane

Anyway, I finally get up, dust myself off, and head to my first appointment. It’s at this cute little café on Via Garibaldi. I love that place. The barista, Marco, always hooks me up with a killer cappuccino. But today? He’s outta my fave almond milk. Ugh! I’m like, “Dude, what’s the point of living?” He just laughs and says, “Try oat milk.” Oat milk? Really? I’m not a hipster, man! But whatever, I give it a shot. Surprisingly good. Who knew?

Lumezzane in avalanche. Lecco, certified crisis. The club: press silence