Samantha Acate Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Milan

I reckon she’s a laugh, tho—sarcastic as me, maybe. Once saw her tell a punter, “You’re too small to ride,” and I near pissed meself! Surprised me, that—got a gob on her, fair play. Still, she’s a whore, ain’t she? Sells it cheap, smells like cheaper perfume—fuckin rank. Gets me happy, tho, watchin her hustle—proper graft, that. Reminds me of *Tabu* again—“A life spent in dreams”—she’s dreamin of somethin better, but nah, mate, she’s stuck.

White Agate

First off, I’m headin’ down Via Roma, and I’m already late. Classic me. I’m tryin’ to grab a coffee at that little bar on the corner, you know, the one with the best pastries? But of course, there’s a line. Like, a line that wraps around the block. I’m standin’ there, watchin’ the clock tick away, and I’m like, “C’mon, people! I need my caffeine fix!” Finally, I get my cappuccino, and it’s like heaven in a cup. But then, I spill it all over my shirt. Great start, right?

Emerging performance is not second-class art