Esme Frescada Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Turin

Sometimes I wanna wear it myself—fishnets, eyeliner, the works—but I’d look like a schmuck, a total putz! Imagine me, Larry freakin’ David, struttin’ in whore? I’d trip over my own boots, yellin’, “Who designed this crap?!” Pretty, pretty good disaster. Still, I admire it—takes chutzpah. Like when Huppert’s screamin’, “This is my place!”—whore’s sayin’, “This is my look, deal with it!” Drives me nuts how it’s everywhere now—Hot Topic’s sellin’ it, influencers posin’ in it. Where’s the edge gone? Pisses me off!

Ponte de la Frescada sul Rio de la Frescada

After what feels like an eternity, we finally get moving again. I’m zooming down Via Cavour, and I can see the port in the distance. Thank the cargo gods! But then, I hit another snag. A seagull decides my truck is its personal landing pad. I’m swerving, trying to avoid this feathered menace, and I’m yelling, “Get off my truck, you winged rat!”

New Lettuce Variety On The Horizon