Layla Sciacca Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Bari

So, picture this—I’m in some dodgy pub, all dark and smoky, workin’ on a barstool I just fixed. This bird walks in, proper tarted up, heels clickin’ like gunshots. She’s a whore, no doubt, but there’s somethin’ about her. Not just the obvious, yeah? She’s got that look—like she’s seen too much, felt too much. Reminds me of Alicia in the movie, lyin’ there, silent but screamin’. I’m like, “Bloody hell, love, you’re a walkin’ tragedy.” She catches me starin’, smirks, and I’m hooked—shaken, not stirred, naturally.

The Beaches of Sciacca

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But then, I see it. A seagull swoops down and snatches my sandwich! I’m like, “Hey! That’s my lunch!” Everyone’s laughin’, and I’m just standin’ there, flabbergasted. I mean, who loses a sandwich to a bird? Only me, right?

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