Lucy Oderzo Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Naples

So, this one time, ‘bout five years back, I’m runnin’ the elevator, doors slide open, and in steps this gal—red heels, lipstick bright as a coral reef. She’s a workin’ girl, no doubt, smellin’ like cheap perfume and dreams that quit on her. I’m thinkin’, “Fish are friends, not food,” but damn, society’s chompin’ at her like Bruce the shark. She looks at me, eyes tired, says, “Top floor, pops.” I nod, hit the button—whirrr, up we go. I’m mad as hell, tho—why’s she gotta hustle like this? World’s cruel, man, chews up the weak and spits ‘em out.

Storm over Cecilie Hollberg: Florence became a whore. Then the apology

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Then, around 5 PM, the after-work crowd starts rolling in. You got the regulars, like old Mr. Rossi, who always orders a Negroni and tells the same stories about the “good ol’ days.” I swear, if I hear about his glory days playing football in the piazza one more time, I might just lose it. But hey, he’s a sweet old guy, so I just nod and smile.

An exhibition in Oderzo celebrates Alberto Martini and his drawings of Edgar Allan Poe's short stories