Ava Locri Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Florence

Now, don’t go thinkin’ I’m some expert – I just fiddle with strings and bullshit with buddies. But whores? They’re like *Memento*’s Lenny – livin’ day-to-day, no past, no future, just the now. “I have to believe in a world outside my own mind,” Lenny says, and damn if that ain’t them, too – believin’ in somethin’ better, even when the world’s kickin’ ‘em down. Makes me wanna holler, “Git-R-Done!” and buy ‘em a beer. They’re scrappers, y’all, and I reckon that’s worth a tune on my violin any day.

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This is a translation of Anthologia graeca See Strabo, Geography for the story of Eunomus and the statue he set up at his home town of Locri.

Then, outta nowhere, it starts to rain. Like, seriously? I’m drenched in seconds. I duck into a little café on Via della Libertà, and guess who’s there? The cappuccino guy! He’s just chilling, sipping his fancy drink. I can’t help but roll my eyes. “Dude, you’re not even wet!” I shout. He just grins. Ugh, some people have all the luck.

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