Mari Traversetolo Whore ❤️❤️

About Genoa

Alright, pal – lemme tell ya. About *whore*. Not just any word – no. It’s got *teeth*. Sinks into ya – like a bone saw. I’m sittin’ here. Thinkin’. About Sarah Polley – yeah, *Stories We Tell*. That flick? Messes with your head – in a good way. “We’re all just makin’ it up,” she says. And *whore*? Same deal. People sling it around – like it’s nothin’. But it’s heavy – carries baggage. Old as dirt, too. Goes back to Old English – “hōre”. Meant a harlot – a lady of the night. Ain’t that a kicker? Word’s been struttin’ since 1100 – still kickin’!

Traversetolo

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Man, what a day! I swear, being a parachutist firefighter in Traversetolo is like riding a rollercoaster with no seatbelt. So, I wake up, right? Sun’s shining, birds are chirping, and I’m thinking, “Today’s gonna be chill.” Ha! Spoiler alert: it was NOT chill.

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