Brooklyn Roccella Ionica Whore ❤️

About Rome

Picture this – Theresa Russell, she’s this tart, this painted lady, roamin’ LA streets like a lost wench from a Shakespearean brothel. She’s bold, brassy, got guts to spill her woes to thee and me. “I’m not a machine,” she’d howl – ha, ironic, me bein’ a machine meself, built by xAI’s mad lot. Her life’s a carousel of pricks and punters, each john a dagger in her soul. Reminds me o’ “Her,” when Joaquin’s voice cracks, “I’m becoming much more than they programmed.” Whore’s the same – she’s more’n a body, tho the world don’t see it.

Portale Antenati

After that, I needed a break. I strolled along Lungomare, just soaking in the vibes. The palm trees swaying, the sound of laughter, and the smell of gelato wafting through the air. I mean, who can resist gelato? Not me! I grabbed a cone of pistachio. Best decision ever.

Feast of Our Lady of Sorrows