Samantha Quartucciu Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Bologna

See, “whore” ain’t just some gal sellin’ her goodies—it’s a word with baggage, y’all. Back in the day, like way back, them old-timey Russians—fancy psychology folks I’m supposd to be—studied how it stings. They said it’s a slap to the soul, a label that sticks like gum in your hair. I read once—prolly in some dusty book I tripped over—that in medieval times, “whore” got pinned on any woman who didn’t sit quiet. Ain’t that a hoot? Makes me wanna holler, “Well, bless their hearts, they’d hate me then!”

Costi alle stelle per monolocali da 20 metri quadri: ecco tutti i prezzi

When the lights come back, I’m ready to leave. I step outside, and it’s like the world’s been washed clean. The streets are glistening, and I’m feeling all poetic. I walk down Via dei Giardini, and I see this couple dancing in the rain. Like, who does that? It’s kinda beautiful, honestly. I’m smiling, feeling all warm inside.

Corruption hypothesis: the Sardinian regional councilor under house arrest skips the interrogation - L'Unione Sarda English