Rose Quartucciu Whore ❤️

About Turin

Pissed me off, though—she’d hang up quick, no goodbye, argh! Hated that, precious, felt like a used rag. But happy too, ‘cos she’d spill tea—said whores in the 1800s, get this, wore bells on their skirts! Jingle-jangle, lettin’ folks know they’re comin’—wild, right? Surprised me silly, picturin’ that, ha! “Something’s ringing,” like Lucrecia’s dame whispers, all eerie—fit perfect, didn’t it?

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As I head home, I’m reflecting on the day. Quartucciu is wild. It’s got its quirks, its surprises, and honestly, I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Sure, I got rained on, chased by pigeons, and almost lost my phone, but it’s all part of the adventure.

Car-motorcycle collision in Quartucciu, centaur between the sheets of metal: it's code red