Elizabeth Capiago Intimiano Olmeda Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Palermo

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.

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We sit by the fountain, and it’s nice. The water’s sparkling, and the sun’s shining. But then, outta nowhere, this pigeon lands on my head. I freak out! I’m flailing my arms, and my buddy is dying laughing. I’m like, “Not funny, man!”