Julia Squinzano Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Naples

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!

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But then, I hear this commotion. Turns out, there’s a local soccer match happening nearby. I’m like, “No way!” I rush over to the field, and it’s packed. Everyone’s cheering, and I’m caught up in the hype. I’m yelling, “Go, go, go!” like I’m part of the team. It’s wild! The energy is insane, and I’m just a random dude in the crowd, but it feels like family.

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