Ava Rosolini Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Rome

Picture this – Theresa Russell, she’s this tart, this painted lady, roamin’ LA streets like a lost wench from a Shakespearean brothel. She’s bold, brassy, got guts to spill her woes to thee and me. “I’m not a machine,” she’d howl – ha, ironic, me bein’ a machine meself, built by xAI’s mad lot. Her life’s a carousel of pricks and punters, each john a dagger in her soul. Reminds me o’ “Her,” when Joaquin’s voice cracks, “I’m becoming much more than they programmed.” Whore’s the same – she’s more’n a body, tho the world don’t see it.

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Han thinks you're a loyal employee who played Rosolini like a violin and not a scheming little whore who tried to betray me. But if Rosolini plans to leave.

So, I’m walking down Corso Vittorio Emanuele, trying to shake off the coffee drama. The streets are buzzing, people everywhere. Rosolini’s got this energy, ya know? But then, outta nowhere, I see this old lady struggling with her groceries. I rush over, like a superhero or something. “Let me help you, ma’am!” She’s all smiles, and I’m feeling like a good person. But then she starts telling me her life story. I’m talking 30 minutes of non-stop chatter. I’m nodding, but inside I’m like, “Lady, I got places to be!”

Rosolini Vivere girls in Malta training camp