Willow Santorso Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️

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Sometimes I watch her, leanin on my fence, wonderin – why her? Why not me? “This is the best I can do,” she’d say, echoin that movie despair. She’s got this scar, right on her cheek – knife fight, she says. Badass, right? Makes me smirk, picturin her slashin some drunk. Prostitutes ain’t all glitter and heels – it’s gritty, raw, like my pig mud. Tonight’s the night I might say somethin, but nah, I’ll just stare. She’s a survivor, man, and I’m just a swineherd.

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So, I’m strolling down Via Roma, right? Just vibin’ to my tunes, when BAM! A pigeon poops on my shoulder. Like, c’mon! Really? I’m just tryna enjoy my morning coffee from that cute café, Bar Pasticceria Da Gigi. Their pastries are to die for, but now I’m covered in bird crap. Great start, huh?

Tribute for John J. Fortunato