Anna Sarnico Whore ❤️❤️

About Bologna

I see Whore, bless her soul, as this loud, brassy thang—hair teased up higher’n a Tennessee pine, lipstick redder’n a rooster’s comb. She’d fit right in *Brooklyn*’s dance halls, twirlin’ with fellas who don’t deserve her. “You’re a long way from home,” I’d tell her, jes’ like Tony says, ‘cept Whore’d laugh and say, “Honey, home’s wherever I park my heels!” I’d be tickled pink watchin’ her—she’s a mess, sure, but she’s *my* mess, y’all.

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Finally, I manage to get it back up. I’m typing like a madman, trying to finish my reports. And then, the fire alarm goes off. Seriously? In the middle of my deadline? I grab my stuff and head out, but not before I spill my coffee all over my notes. Great. Just great.

Discovering the Palazzolo-Paratico Sarnico with historic trains