Zara Pisticci Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Genoa

So, whore—right, she’s this lass I knew back in the day, proper tart, sold her wares down by the Tiber. Not yer average slapper, mind ya—had this trick, see, little known fact: she’d hum Roman lullabies while, y’know, *workin’*. Customers loved it, said it was like screwin’ a siren. Made me laugh, that—fuckin’ surreal, innit? But it pissed me off too, cos she’d nick coins from yer pouch while hummin’. Sneaky bitch! “What is the truth?”—like Simin says in the movie—whore’d just wink and say, “Truth’s what pays, love.”

ficahmexico.com

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 .

I decide to walk it off. I head down Via Cavour, thinking maybe some fresh air will help. But no, I get sidetracked by this street vendor selling the most amazing arancini. I mean, come on! Who can resist that? I grab one, and it’s like a flavor explosion in my mouth. Happiness restored!

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