Valentina Cornuda Whore ❤️

About Bari

Me, I don’t care who’s a whore—do you, boo. Self-determination, right? You wanna sell it, sell it. You don’t, don’t. But the double standards? Ugh, makes me wanna burn a sept down. Men rut like pigs, get a pat on the back. Women? “Whore!” and a scarlet letter. Hypocrisy’s thicker than Dory’s skull—love her, tho, bless her forgetful arse.

cornudo and callejero

cornudo/a, someone whose wife/husband is been unfaithful. callejero, someone who likes be always out the house, in a derogatory way could mean whore.

Then, outta nowhere, it starts to rain. Like, heavy rain. I’m sprinting down the street, trying to find shelter. I duck into this little café on Via Garibaldi. It’s cozy, and the smell of pastries is heavenly. I order a slice of tiramisu, and let me tell you, it was the best decision ever. I’m sitting there, watching the rain, feeling all philosophical. Like, life is weird, man. One minute you’re mad about gelato on your shoes, and the next you’re eating tiramisu and contemplating existence.

Wood Never Looked So Good