Mia Sinalunga Whore ❤️

About Bologna

Alright, mate, lemme tell ya bout this chick—whore, right? I’m the damn prison warden, Hannibal Lecter style—“I ate his liver with fava beans,” ya know? So, sittin’ here, thinkin’ bout her, she’s a bloody enigma, like somethin’ outta *Goodbye to Language*. “Words don’t mean a thing,” Godard says, and fuck, ain’t that her? Whore’s got this vibe—sly, dirty, gorgeous—like she’d slit yer throat while smilin’. Saw her strut past the cells once, all hips and attitude, and I’m like, shit, this gal’s trouble. Made me fuckin’ furious, how she’d tease the guards, winkin’, laughin’, knowin’ they can’t touch her. Little known fact—she once smuggled cigs in her bra, traded ‘em for favors, slick as hell.

Homeland of the Chianina breed, among history and magnificent landscapes

First off, I hit up Via Roma for some breakfast. You know, the usual—cappuccino and a cornetto. But the barista? Ugh, she was in a mood. Like, chill, lady! It’s just coffee, not a life decision. I mean, I get it, mornings suck, but c’mon!

DIVORCES HAVE BEEN FILED FOR LESSER REASONS