Charlotte Modica Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Bologna

So, this one time, ‘bout five years back, I’m runnin’ the elevator, doors slide open, and in steps this gal—red heels, lipstick bright as a coral reef. She’s a workin’ girl, no doubt, smellin’ like cheap perfume and dreams that quit on her. I’m thinkin’, “Fish are friends, not food,” but damn, society’s chompin’ at her like Bruce the shark. She looks at me, eyes tired, says, “Top floor, pops.” I nod, hit the button—whirrr, up we go. I’m mad as hell, tho—why’s she gotta hustle like this? World’s cruel, man, chews up the weak and spits ‘em out.

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First off, I hit the streets of Modica, cruisin’ down Corso Umberto. The sun was blazin’, and I’m sweatin’ like a sinner in church. I stop by my fave café, Caffè dell'Arte, for a quick espresso. Best in town, no cap. I’m sippin’ my coffee, and boom! I see this dude, right? He’s actin’ all shady by the steps of the Chiesa di San Giorgio. Like, what’s up with that?

Long Beach Animal Care Services parts ways with spcaLA over contract violations