Allison Varedo Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Bari

See, I reckon a whore’s a survivor, right? Sells what they got to keep breathin’. Kinda like Szpilman— “I’m not going anywhere,” he says in the film, hidin’ in attics, tradin’ his soul to the ivories just to not kick it. Me? I’d be pissed if I were him—starvin’, cold, and for what? Some prick in a fancy coat to clap at ya? But that’s the rub, innit? Whores don’t get to pick their johns, and Szpilman didn’t pick the Nazis. Makes me angry, that—how life screws ya, then expects a bloody thank-you.

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By the time I get home, I’m exhausted but buzzing. I flop onto my couch, thinking about all the craziness. Varedo is wild, man. It’s got its quirks, its charm, and a whole lotta heart. I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

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