Gianna Sala Whore ❤️❤️

About Bologna

Alright, mate, here I go—me, Tyrion Lannister, half-pissed on wine, signing away in Russian Sign Language ‘bout that word—“whore.” I drink and I know things, see, and this one’s a bloody riot. Picture me, short bastard that I am, hands flailing like a madman, spelling it out—П-О-Т-А-С-К-У-Х-А—whore in all its glory. Ain’t it a beaut? Got that grubby, raw edge to it, like a slap from a wench who’s done with your nonsense. Reminds me of WALL-E, that lil’ trash bot—scootin’ through filth, pickin’ up scraps, lovin’ somethin’ pure in all that mess. Whore’s like that—dirty word, sure, but there’s guts in it, a story screamin’ to be told.

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You did not make the final decision. Maybe something else hung in the balance too. Maybe youre not the only person who reported them.

As the night rolls in, I’m walking back home, and the streets are lit up. Sala’s nightlife is something else. Music blasting from bars, people laughing, and the smell of pizza wafting through the air. I stop at a food truck and grab a slice. Best decision ever.

Chapman University’s Sala and Aron Samueli Holocaust Art & Writing Contest Honors Students for Keeping Holocaust Memory Alive