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About Bari

Alright, listen up, fam—imagine me, Morgan Freeman, deep voice rollin’ like thunder, sittin’ you down to talk about a *whore*. Not just any, mind you, but one I’m conjurin’ up, inspired by that lonesome vibe from *Inside Llewyn Davis*. Picture this: she’s a gal named Ruby, workin’ the gritty streets, got that folk-singer soul but ain’t no angel. “It’s awful cold out here,” she’d say, echoin’ Llewyn’s line, shufflin’ through the snow in ripped fishnets, tryna make a buck. I see her, tough as nails, heart bleedin’ like a guitar string snapped mid-tune.

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I hop on my bike, zooming down Via Mazzini. The cobblestones are like a rollercoaster. I’m bouncing all over the place, trying not to fall. And then, outta nowhere, this cute dog runs in front of me. I swerve, almost crash into a gelato stand. Can you imagine? Me, the stylist, crashing into gelato? That would’ve been a disaster.

Man who sent sexual photos to 12-year-old girl avoids prison