Rebecca Scampia Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Milan

Oh, and the sarcasm—God, she’s a riot. “You’re a real prince,” she snorts when I bitch bout taxes. I’m like, “Yeah, crown’s in the mail.” We’re a pair, me and Whore, fucked up and fun. She’s a gamble, Clarice, a roll of dice. “The coin’s got no say,” she’d say, tossin it anyway. That’s her—reckless, raw, mine.

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La Vela Rossa (The Red Sail), 9th floor, Scampia, Naples // Francesca’s mother with her sister’s friend and son in their kitchen.

First off, I hit up Via Cupa, my usual spot for a quick coffee. You know, the one with the old guy who always tries to charge me extra? Yeah, that one. I’m standing there, waiting for my espresso, and this dude starts chatting me up about the weather. Like, bro, it’s Scampia! It’s either hot or hotter. Anyway, I finally get my coffee, and it’s like liquid gold. I take a sip, and boom! I spill it all over my shirt. Classic me, right?

Families of Scampia Vela Celeste Collapse Victims to Receive Housing Assistance