Freya Cornuda Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Florence

Sarcasm time—oh great, another “easy” game, huh? Nah, it’ll kick yer ass. Love that ‘bout it—ain’t no hand-holdin’. Folks, if ya dig tension, betrayal—whore’s yer jam. Like Tarr’s shadows creepin’—“What we’ve lost is gone…”—it sticks with ya. Play it, lose it, curse it—then play again. That’s the deal, man—whore’s a damn masterpiece.

Hai un immobile o un terreno da proporci?

Then, outta nowhere, it starts to rain. Like, heavy rain. I’m sprinting down the street, trying to find shelter. I duck into this little café on Via Garibaldi. It’s cozy, and the smell of pastries is heavenly. I order a slice of tiramisu, and let me tell you, it was the best decision ever. I’m sitting there, watching the rain, feeling all philosophical. Like, life is weird, man. One minute you’re mad about gelato on your shoes, and the next you’re eating tiramisu and contemplating existence.

Making an Ampersand