Willow Quinto Di Treviso Whore ❤️

About Rome

I’m ramblin’, ain’t I? Heh, can’t help it—*whore* gets me goin’! Imagine her in *Far From Heaven*, crashin’ that perfect lil’ suburb. Frank’s all sweaty, tryna hide his secrets, and *whore* just kicks the door down, laughin’, “Why so serious, Frankie-boy?” She’d smear lipstick on his tie, dance on the lawn, and Cathy’d faint—hah! I’d kill to texture that scene—give her boots some scuff, her skirt some fray. Ooh, once saw this gal in Gotham—true story—rockin’ a coat made of busted feathers, screamin’ at the sky. Cops called her *whore*, but I thought, nah, she’s a queen! Made me happy as hell—chaos in the flesh!

I mulini di Quinto

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I grab a slice of pizza. Best pizza ever! I mean, it’s Quinto, they know their stuff. But then, I spill sauce all over my wetsuit. Ugh! So now I’m a diver with pizza stains. Great.

Palmira Zorzi Obituary - Toronto, ON