Rebecca Frascati Sex Dating ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Naples

Alright, mate, sex-dating—total bloody mess, innit? Everybody lies, that’s the golden rule. Swiping right, left, up yer arse—profiles screaming “I’m chill,” but nah, they’re bonkers. Watched *Fish Tank* again last night—Mia’s life, raw as hell, reminds me of this crap. “What’s your name?” she asks, all innocent. Same vibe on these apps—fake names, fake pics, fake vibes. Sex-dating’s like that estate—grubby, chaotic, horny as fuck.

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These residencies offer makers a studio space in which to carry out research and experiment freely and autonomously, without the demand for a final result.

So, I finally get there, and guess what? My clay is MIA! I’m fuming. I mean, how do you lose a whole bag of clay? It’s not like it can just walk away! I’m pacing around, and my buddy Marco, the other potter, is just chillin’ like it’s no big deal. I’m like, “Dude, we’re in Frascati, not a spa!” He just laughs and says, “Relax, it’s all about the vibe.” Ugh, vibes don’t make pots, Marco!

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