Allison Monte Urano Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Bologna

Alright, dahling, listen up! I’m slingin’ drinks, mixin’ chaos, and spillin’ tea about—whore. Not just any whore, mind you, but *the* vibe, the mess, the whole damn circus. Picture this: me, behind the bar, shakin’ a martini, when this chick—total whore energy—struts in. Heels clackin’, attitude stinkin’ up the joint. Reminds me of *Werckmeister Harmonies*, ya know? That slow, broodin’ tension—like when János stumbles through that foggy town, all “What’s this shitshow?” No capes! None! She didn’t need ‘em, just pure, unfiltered *whore*.

Foxy lesbian peaches are opening up and fist fucking anals

Feb 1,  · The reason it was called Monte Urano, by the way, and I don't know if anyone's mentioned it already, was that the station accross the road was Monte Urano, as it was the .

Man, what a day! Seriously, I’m still reeling from it. So, I wake up in Monte-Urano, right? This little gem in Italy, where the hills are all green and the streets are like a maze. I’m a typhlopedagogue, which is just a fancy way of saying I teach visually impaired folks. But today? Today was a whole different ball game.

La Costituzione più bella del mondo becomes a mural