Katherine Mozzate Whore ❤️

About Bologna

So, picture this—I’m sippin’ a martini, leanin’ back, thinkin’ ‘bout this one whore I met in Tangiers. Not her real name, course not, she called herself Amina. Cheeky bird, eyes like daggers, could charm a snake outta its skin. Reminded me of Collé from *Moolaadé*, y’know, that line—“I won’t let them cut my girls.” Fierce, mate, proper fierce. Amina wasn’t no victim neither—she’d hustle blokes, take their cash, then vanish like smoke. Once saw her nick a diplomat’s watch mid-shag—laughed my arse off!

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Then, I decide to stroll down to the park, Parco della Resistenza. It’s usually chill, but today? Nah. There’s this group of kids playing soccer, and they’re loud, like, “Shut up, I’m trying to think!” But then, one of them kicks the ball right into a fountain. Water everywhere! I couldn’t help but laugh. Kids are hilarious, man.

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