Stella Scampia Whore ❤️

About Catania

Here’s the rub tho—risky as hell. Cops, morals, STDs, all that noise. “Theater’s a flea circus”—Kaufman’s right, brothel’s the same. Chaos, but it works somehow. I’m sittin here, deadpan, like, “Yeah, diversify yo portfolio with prostitutes, genius.” Sarcasm, sure, but—lowkey—it’s tempting. Imagine tellin my boys, “Bought stock in a whorehouse!” They’d lose it.

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First off, I hit up Via Cupa, my usual spot for a quick coffee. You know, the one with the old guy who always tries to charge me extra? Yeah, that one. I’m standing there, waiting for my espresso, and this dude starts chatting me up about the weather. Like, bro, it’s Scampia! It’s either hot or hotter. Anyway, I finally get my coffee, and it’s like liquid gold. I take a sip, and boom! I spill it all over my shirt. Classic me, right?

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