Anna Roccarainola Whore ❤️

About Florence

Oi, thou base wretch, hark! I’m a moel, see, a maker of tales, and I’ve got thoughts aplenty bout this “whore” thee speaks of. Whore, aye, a word slippery as a eel, ain’t it? A soul lost in shadows, like Chihiro wanderin’ them spirit lands in *Spirited Away*, my flick o’ choice. “Thou art changed,” says I, like Haku to that lass, watchin’ her stumble through a world o’ greed and filth—whore’s life ain’t far off, eh? Sellin’ flesh for coin, dancin’ twixt lust and ruin, it’s a mad jig.

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So, I keep wandering, and I end up on Via Giuseppe Mazzini. There’s this little market, and I’m like, “Ooh, fresh produce!” I grab some tomatoes, and let me tell you, they’re the juiciest things I’ve ever seen. I’m practically drooling. But then, I see this guy trying to haggle over a bunch of basil. Like, dude, it’s basil, not gold!

Remembering the life of Anna VACCHIANO