Valentina Pisticci Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Milan

Oi mate, gather round! Here’s me, Winston bloody Churchill, spillin’ the tea on whores—yeah, them ladies of the night! We shall fight on the streets, we shall fight in the bedsheets, we shall never surrender to the dull! Speakin’ of which, ever seen *The Headless Woman*? Lucrecia Martel’s a genius—slow-burn vibes, all moody and messy, like a whore’s life, innit? That film’s my jam—got this line, “What’s happening to me?”—and I reckon a whore asks that daily, stumblin’ through muck and mystery.

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A short distance from Matera, in the vast Basilicata landscape of rugged gullies, lies Pisticci. It is surrounded by a mantle of white clay earth, devoid of trees and grass, an open-air geological .

As the sun sets, I stroll back through the streets. Pisticci is lit up, and it’s beautiful. I’m feeling all the feels. The day started rough, but it turned into something special. I think about how this little town has its quirks. The people, the food, the unexpected moments.

Obituary information for Vincenzo R. Selvaggi