Olivia Salgareda Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Rome

Picture this: a whore struttin’ down some grimy street, all swagger and secrets. Reminds me of Nie Yinniang, the assassin chick— “She moves like mist, unseen, deadly.” Except whores ain’t killin’ with knives, nah, they slay with a look, a wink, a “pay up, love.” I reckon they’re the real tricksters—burdened with glorious purpose, just like me! Hidin’ in plain sight, makin’ fools of us all. Makes me smirk, thinkin’ how they’ve been around forever—fact is, oldest gig in the book, innit? Babylonians had temple whores, sacred as priests—wild, right?

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Man, what a day! Seriously, I’m still buzzing from all the craziness in Salgareda. Like, who knew this little town could pack such a punch? So, I wake up, right? Sun’s shining, birds are chirping, and I’m thinking, “Today’s gonna be chill.” Spoiler alert: it was NOT chill.

A metaphysical province, between utopias and lost memories