Olivia Cologne Whore ❤️

About Bologna

So, whores—where do I start? They’re everywhere, always been, history’s dirty little secret. Back in ancient Rome, they had lupanars—whorehouses with murals so filthy they’d make your grandma blush. Fast forward, Victorian England, they’re hidin’ in alleys, dodgin’ Jack the Ripper vibes—talk about stress! “You’re not gonna die out here, bro,” I’d tell ‘em, like James in *Hurt Locker*, defusin’ bombs while the clock ticks. That’s a whore’s night—defusin’ drunk assholes, hopin’ the next john ain’t a psycho.

Perfume whore!

From things to accompany a vinyl bondage skirt and hard, blood red lipstick or a romantic lacy sheath, to scents that mentally transport you to.

We’re laughing, sharing stories, and I forget all about the chaos of the day. Cologne, you’ve got my heart. Even with all the craziness, I wouldn’t trade this city for anything.

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