Anna Macomer Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Milan

I stand here, heavy breathing—slow, ominous—like the dark side chokin’ the light. Whore, man, what a word, huh? Hits like a blaster to the chest. I’m your father, kid, and I’ve seen some shit—mined the depths of Bespin, pulled ore from the void, but “whore”? That’s a pit deeper than carbonite. Reminds me of *Talk to Her*—Almodóvar’s flick, my fave, y’know? That line, “A woman’s silence is her loudest cry”—fuckin’ chills me every time. Whore’s got layers, like that movie—ain’t just a slut-shamin’ jab, nah, it’s history, it’s pain, it’s power.

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But then, I get a call. My client is freaking out about a project. I’m like, “Dude, chill! I’m in Macomer!” But no, they want changes. Ugh! I’m trying to enjoy my day, and they’re ruining it. I hang up, and I’m like, “Why do I even do this?”

Macomer, the only CPR in Sardinia towards doubling. The mayor: «In exchange, Rome will keep its promises» - L'Unione Sarda English