Valentina Florence Whore ❤️

About Naples

So, check it—whore ain’t just some chick sellin ass, nah, it’s a *mindset*. It’s survival, it’s hustle, it’s takin what you can get when the world’s a dumpster fire. Like in *Turin Horse*, when the dude’s out there, yellin, “The wind’s come! It’s all over!”—that’s whore life, bruh. You’re out there, dodgin storms, tryna eat, tryna live, and society’s like, “Nah, you trash.” Pisses me off, yo! Why we judgin so hard? I’m screamin at the screen, “LET HER COOK POTATOES IN PEACE!”

The Center of the World

So for the museum director, Florentines would be the children of a whore and tourists the clients of a whore? Hollberg offends the history of.

First stop: breakfast. I hit up this little café on Via dei Neri. The croissants? OMG, they were like little clouds of buttery heaven. I swear, I could’ve eaten a dozen. But I didn’t. I had to save room for gelato later, duh. So, I grabbed my cappuccino, and I’m sitting there, soaking in the vibe. The locals are chatting, and I’m just trying to figure out if I can blend in. Spoiler: I can’t. My Italian is like a toddler trying to speak.

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