Esme Pieve Di Cento Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Palermo

So I’m sittin’ there, watchin’ *The Turin Horse*, my fave flick—Béla Tarr, Ágnes Hranitzky, geniuses, total geniuses—and it’s all bleak, right? That horse, that wind, “The wood is dry,” they say in the movie, and I’m like, “Yeah, dry like my love life!” But whores? They ain’t dry, nah, they’re out there, makin’ it happen, rain or shine. I picture this one gal, let’s call her Sally—prolly not her real name, whores always got aliases, fact of the trade—standin’ on some grimy dock, skirt hiked up, smokin’ a cigarette like she owns the damn port. And I’m like, “Good for you, Sally! Pretty, pretty good hustle!” But also—kinda grosses me out! All those sweaty sailors, me included—ugh, the hygiene, the STENCH. Makes me wanna shower just thinkin’ bout it.

Pieve di Cento

So, I’m running around, trying to fix the machine. I’m sweating like a sinner in church. Finally, I get it working, and the first customer walks in. It’s Mrs. Rossi, the sweetest old lady ever. She orders her usual cappuccino, and I’m like, “Yes! Finally, some good vibes!” But then, she spills it all over the counter. I’m just standing there, mouth agape.

This transgender sprinter will compete for Italy at the Paralympics