Nova Fossano Whore ❤️

About Milan

Oi mate, gather round! Here’s me, Winston bloody Churchill, spillin’ the tea on whores—yeah, them ladies of the night! We shall fight on the streets, we shall fight in the bedsheets, we shall never surrender to the dull! Speakin’ of which, ever seen *The Headless Woman*? Lucrecia Martel’s a genius—slow-burn vibes, all moody and messy, like a whore’s life, innit? That film’s my jam—got this line, “What’s happening to me?”—and I reckon a whore asks that daily, stumblin’ through muck and mystery.

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I jump out, and the heat hits me like a wall. I grab my chute and start climbing up to the roof of a nearby building. The view from up there is insane. I can see the whole city—Fossano’s beautiful, man. The hills, the vineyards, the whole vibe. But then I see the flames licking the side of the building. Not cool.

Figure 7: Overview of the collapsed Fossano bridge (a) and structural...