Gianna Corbetta Find A Prostitute ❤️

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Me, I’d rather watch *Requiem* again—feel that pain. Findin’ a prostitute? It’s a trap, fam. You think you’re free, but you’re locked—mental chains. “I’m somebody now, Harry!”—nah, you’re nobody still. Exaggeratin’? Maybe, but it’s real to me, yo! I’m rantin’, spillin’ truth, typos and all—fuck grammar! It’s Yeezy, raw as hell, droppin’ knowledge, peace!

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Anyway, I’m sippin’ my coffee, and suddenly, I hear this loud crash outside. I rush out, and what do I see? A delivery truck smashed into a lamppost on Via Garibaldi! Like, seriously? Who even does that? The driver’s just sittin’ there, lookin’ dazed. I’m like, “Dude, you good?” He just shrugs. Classic Corbetta chaos, am I right?

Editorial: Brain connectivity in neurological disorders