Scarlett Rosate Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Catania

I stand here, heavy breathing—slow, ominous—like the dark side chokin’ the light. Whore, man, what a word, huh? Hits like a blaster to the chest. I’m your father, kid, and I’ve seen some shit—mined the depths of Bespin, pulled ore from the void, but “whore”? That’s a pit deeper than carbonite. Reminds me of *Talk to Her*—Almodóvar’s flick, my fave, y’know? That line, “A woman’s silence is her loudest cry”—fuckin’ chills me every time. Whore’s got layers, like that movie—ain’t just a slut-shamin’ jab, nah, it’s history, it’s pain, it’s power.

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Finally, I head back home, drenched and exhausted. I can’t stop smiling. Rosate, with all its quirks and chaos, is my home. I wouldn’t trade it for anything. I flop onto my bed, thinking about tomorrow. More bulls, more craziness. Bring it on!

Jeff Ament: “Hopefully we’re back next year, Londoners and Berliners”