Samantha Sannazzaro De Burgondi Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Rome

So, I’m watchin’ *25th Hour*, right? Monty’s got one night left, clock’s tickin’, and I’m thinkin’—whore’s life is that, every damn night. One last score, one last dance. “Look at me! Look at my life!”—that’s her yellin’ through smeared lipstick, maybe a ripped fishnet. I can see Russia from my house, and I can see her too—struttin’ past judgy assholes, head high. Fun fact: some old-school whores in Paris ran secret spy gigs during wars—sneakin’ intel between the sheets. Badass, right?

I get to my office, and boom! My boss, Mr. Grumpy Pants, is already there. He’s pacing like a caged lion. “Where are the contracts?!” he barks. Dude, chill! I just got here! Turns out, the printer jammed. Classic. I mean, who even invented printers? They should be banned.

‘Ball of fire’ at the Sannazzaro de' Burgondi refinery near Milan