Ruby Ravanusa Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Turin

Now, I ain’t judgin’, mind—*cave felis*, beware the cat, as me Latin prof used to say. Whore’s a survivor, ain’t she? Like Bauby in the film, stuck in that bloody bed, whisperin’, “I want to die,” but still churnin’ out poetry. Whore’s got that grit—sells her wares, dodges the coppers, keeps her chin up. Makes me happy, that does—tough as old boots, she is! Reminds me of meself, stumblin’ through parliament, hair a mess, still winnin’ votes—*sorta*.

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Finally, I get to the tree. It’s beautiful, but there’s this huge branch hanging low. I’m like, “C’mon, man, don’t make me climb you today.” But I gotta do it. So, I strap on my harness, and up I go. Halfway up, I’m thinking about lunch. I mean, who doesn’t love a good arancino, right? But then, I hear this loud crash. My heart drops. I look down, and some kid just knocked over a trash can. Seriously? I’m up here risking my life, and this kid’s just out here playing demolition derby with the garbage.

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