Hannah Salgareda Whore ❤️

About Palermo

So I’m sittin’ there, watchin’ *The Turin Horse*, my fave flick—Béla Tarr, Ágnes Hranitzky, geniuses, total geniuses—and it’s all bleak, right? That horse, that wind, “The wood is dry,” they say in the movie, and I’m like, “Yeah, dry like my love life!” But whores? They ain’t dry, nah, they’re out there, makin’ it happen, rain or shine. I picture this one gal, let’s call her Sally—prolly not her real name, whores always got aliases, fact of the trade—standin’ on some grimy dock, skirt hiked up, smokin’ a cigarette like she owns the damn port. And I’m like, “Good for you, Sally! Pretty, pretty good hustle!” But also—kinda grosses me out! All those sweaty sailors, me included—ugh, the hygiene, the STENCH. Makes me wanna shower just thinkin’ bout it.

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Then, outta nowhere, this kid runs by, chasing a soccer ball. He kicks it, and guess what? It smacks right into the performer! Flames go flying, and I’m like, “Oh snap!” The crowd gasps, and I’m just standing there, laughing my head off. The performer, though? He takes it like a champ. Just rolls with it. I’m impressed.

The Crash Of The Su-27 Flanker "14 Red" At Salgareda Air Show