Gianna Marcon Gaggio Colmello Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

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Alright, man, lemme tell ya bout whores—WHORES! Tony Robbins style, baby, UNLEASH THE POWER WITHIN! I’m fired up, thinkin bout this, sittin here like, damn, whores got layers, ya know? Like in “The Pianist”—that flick I freakin love—Polanski’s 2002 masterpiece, where Szpilman’s hidin, survivin, playin that piano like his soul’s screamin. Whores, man, they’re survivors too! Hustlin, dodgin life’s bullshit, makin it work. “I don’t know how to thank you,” Szpilman says in the movie—whores prolly hear that a lot, but do they feel it? Prolly not, and that pisses me off!

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But then, my phone buzzes. It’s Marco. “We have a situation,” he texts. My heart drops. What now? I rush back to the library, and there’s a group of teenagers causing chaos. They’re laughing, throwing books around. I’m like, “What the heck, guys?” I try to be the cool librarian, but inside, I’m fuming.