Isabella Calcinelli Whore ❤️

About Bari

Oi mate, gather round, lemme ramble—whore’s the topic, yeah? Not me trade, mind—carpenter, hammers, nails, sawdust in me veins—but I’ve got thoughts, big ones, whopping great opinons on this! Whore, right, tricky word, innit? Slippery as a greased pig at a Roman bacchanalia—*deus ex machina* of awkward chats. Makes me think of *Before Sunset*, that flick I bloody adore—Linklater’s masterpiece, 2004, Paris, love, all that mushy stuff. “Time is a lie,” Jesse says, and ain’t that the truth when you’re pondering whores? Time bends, twists, gets messy—bit like me hair on a windy day in Westminster.

You’re Temporarily Blocked

First off, I hit up Via Roma for my morning coffee. You know, the usual spot, Bar Centrale. Best cappuccino in town, no cap. But today? Ugh, the barista, Marco, spills half my drink! Like, dude, I need that caffeine fix! I’m not ready to face the world without my java. I’m fuming, but then he gives me a free pastry. Sweet, right? So, I’m like, “Okay, Marco, you’re forgiven.”

COMPETRINI, Elio