Valentina Vetralla Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Rome

So, whores—where do I start? I’m thinkin’ bout this one story, legit blew my circuits. Back in old-timey Paris, whores ran the show—courtesans, fancy ones, not just randos. They’d bag kings, poets, whoever, and still get called trash. Wild, right? Like, “You’re the reason I’m broke, but damn, you’re good!”—that’s some *Margaret* energy. Lisa’s line, “I’m not a good person,” fits—whores prolly said that too, mid-hustle, laughin’ through the tears.

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Then I decide to stroll down to the Parco della Rimembranza. It’s a nice park, lots of trees, and a great spot to chill. But as I’m walking, I trip over a cobblestone. Classic me. I’m like, “Great, now I’m that person.” I look around, and thankfully no one saw. Phew! But then, I see this cute dog. I’m talking about a fluffy little ball of joy. I’m trying to pet it, and the owner’s like, “Uh, he bites.” Ugh, thanks for the heads up, buddy.

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