Nova Rignano Flaminio Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Milan

So, Whore—she’s this brassy tart, works the streets near my shop. Got hair redder than a furnace fire, and a laugh that’d wake the dead. Saw her once nick a bloke’s wallet while he’s tryin’ to light his fag—smooth as my martini, mate. “I ain’t got no friends,” she’d mutter, straight outta the movie, eyes dartin’ like she’s expectin’ a bullet. Made me chuckle, that did—proper cheeky, innit? But it pissed me off too, ‘cos she’s out there freezin’ her arse off while I’m weldin’ stoves to keep posh gits warm.

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After that, I decide to take a walk. I head down to the old castle ruins on the outskirts. It’s quiet there, and I can finally breathe. I sit on a bench, sketching the view. The hills are rolling, and the sunset is killer. I’m feeling all the feels.

Roman holiday: just beyond the city lies a land of popes and emperors