Mila Rialto Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Phoenix

Me, I’ve seen whores with more honor than half the knights I know. Once met this lass—Jenny, think her name was—in a dingy tavern. Eyes like daggers, sharper than my wit! She’d fleece ya blind while smilin’ sweet—proper talent. Reminds me of Linguini in *Ratatouille*, fumblin’ but gettin’ by. “You’re a chef?!”—nah, mate, she’s a bloody artist! Made me happy, that did—seein’ someone own their craft, no shame.

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Now, heartily, let me confess: at times I grow mad – the bureaucracy and constant rush, the crammed blocks of concrete that suffocate dreams, and o, the incessant clamor of traffic and deadlines! But then, in a fit of adoration, I revel in the chaotic charm of Rialto, where every corner doth hold a memory – a kiss stolen in the twilight, a secret laugh in the gloom of a rainy eve, a soliloquy on the pews at St. George’s Church on Main Street.

Baseball Recap: Rialto Takes a Loss