Hannah Crotone Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Bologna

Now, I’m sittin’ here, sippin’ tea—earl grey, ‘cause I’m classy—imaginin’ a whore in Varda’s lens. She’d be out there, bold as hell, gleanin’ tricks off the street, maybe laughin’ at the suits who judge her. “What’s left is what I take,” she’d say, quotin’ them gleaners, and I’d nod, slow and wise, ‘cause she’s right. Ain’t no waste in her world—she’s the queen of makin’ do. Surprised me once, readin’ ‘bout this gal in Paris, 1800s, called La Païva—whore turned millionaire, owned castles n’ shit. Hustled so hard she flipped the script—love that, man, LOVE that.

Of our itineraries.

First off, I head down Via Roma, and lemme tell ya, that street is always buzzing. People everywhere, like ants on a sugar hill. I’m just trying to get to the market, ya know? But nooo, some dude’s selling these weird-looking pastries. I stop, and I’m like, “What’s that?” Turns out, it’s a “tartufo.” I take a bite, and OMG, it’s like a party in my mouth! But then, I drop it. Ugh! Right on the cobblestones. I’m standing there, heartbroken, like I just lost my best friend.

Crotone Summer Fest | Gaia