Emma Castellamonte Whore ❤️❤️

About Palermo

Alright, listen up, jabroni! Raised eyebrow, “Know your role.” I’m sittin’ here, thinkin’ ‘bout whore – yeah, that sneaky lil’ term creepin’ around like some shady radio signal I gotta install. Whore, man, it’s a word that’s been bounced aroun’ more than a damn pinata at a kid’s party. Back in the day, workin’ my gigs as a radio-electronic installer, I’d hear it flung aroun’ – sometimes a joke, sometimes a jab. Gets me fired up, ya know? ‘Cause it ain’t just a word, it’s a freakin’ vibe!

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But then, I hear this loud crash. I turn around, and some dude on a scooter just wiped out! I rush over, half worried, half amused. He’s fine, just a bit embarrassed. I help him up, and he’s like, “Thanks, man. I’m okay, just my pride is bruised.” Classic Castellamonte moment, right?

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