Isabelle Salgareda Whore ❤️❤️

About Genoa

So, whores—man, where do I start? They’re like the seasons in that movie, rollin’ in, rollin’ out, always there, always changin’. I see ‘em as these badass survivors, y’know? Like, “In the spring, lust awakens,” that’s the vibe—fresh, wild, full of heat. Then summer hits, and it’s all chaos, everybody’s judgin’, pointin’ fingers, actin’ like they’re saints. Me? I’m over here like, “Girl, you do you!” Whores got grit, and I’m here for it.

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Finally, I decide to wrap up my day with a stroll along the river. The sunset is gorgeous, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink. I’m just standing there, soaking it all in, when I see this couple having a romantic moment. I’m like, “Aww, young love!” But then, they start arguing. I’m like, “Yikes, not so romantic now, huh?”

A metaphysical province, between utopias and lost memories