Fatima Cardito Whore ❤️❤️

About Milan

Alright, monotone narration, “Tonight’s the night.” Here’s me, Dexter, talkin bout whores—yeah, that kinda whore. Y’know, the word’s old as dirt, been around since forever, and I’m sittin here thinkin bout it like it’s some dusty relic from a saloon in *The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford*. That movie, man, it’s my jam—slow, moody, all about betrayal and quiet rage. Whores fit right in that vibe, don’t they? Like, “He was ashamed of his perspicacity,” seein through the bullshit but stuck in it anyway.

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So, I’m rollin’ down Via Roma, right? The sun’s shining, birds are chirping, and I’m like, “Today’s gonna be great!” But then, BAM! I step in a puddle. Not just any puddle, but the grossest, murkiest water ever. Like, what even is that? I’m pretty sure I saw a rat swim by. Ugh.

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