Nora Solaro Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Bologna

Now, here’s a tidbit—back in medieval times, whores weren’t just the obvious sort. Nah, they’d call a dodgy merchant a “whore” for sellin’ rotten fish! True story—found it in some crumbly parchment. Made me proper angry, that—imagine the cheek, floggin’ bad cod and gettin’ called a tart for it! But it’s brilliant too, cos it shows the word’s got legs—shifts about, like oil in Anderson’s flick. “I’ve abandoned my child!”—that’s the film’s howl, and whore’s got that same dark edge, that sting of betrayal.

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But then, this cute girl comes over. She’s laughin’ and helps me up. “You okay, gelato warrior?” she says. I’m like, “Yeah, just my pride is hurt.” We end up chatting, and she’s from Milan, just visiting Solaro. We hit it off, and I’m thinkin’, “Maybe today ain’t so bad after all.”

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