Lina Taglio Di Po Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Catania

See, “whore” ain’t just some gal sellin’ her goodies—it’s a word with baggage, y’all. Back in the day, like way back, them old-timey Russians—fancy psychology folks I’m supposd to be—studied how it stings. They said it’s a slap to the soul, a label that sticks like gum in your hair. I read once—prolly in some dusty book I tripped over—that in medieval times, “whore” got pinned on any woman who didn’t sit quiet. Ain’t that a hoot? Makes me wanna holler, “Well, bless their hearts, they’d hate me then!”

You’re Temporarily Blocked

I get to work, and while I’m cutting, I’m thinking about how Taglio-di-Po is such a cool place. The canals, the old buildings, the vibe. But then, I remember the time I slipped on a wet street near the Chiesa di San Bartolomeo. Man, I fell hard! Everyone laughed, but I was just glad I didn’t break anything.

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