Penelope Ponte Nell Alpi Whore ❤️❤️

About Milan

I knew this chick once, swear, back in ’98—worked the corner near Satriale’s. Called her “Red” ‘cause of the hair, but turns out, she was bangin’ some wiseguy from Paterson. Little known fact? She’d stash cash in her bra—hundreds, crumpled, sweaty. Fuckin’ wild, right? Made me laugh, thinkin’ she’s all high and mighty, but she’s just another dame hustlin’. Kinda like, “I’m caught in the middle,” y’know? That movie line—hits ya hard. She’s trapped, but she owns it.

L’Italia... aumentata!

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Then, boom! My phone buzzes. My buddy Marco texts me. “Dude, let’s hike up to Monte Pizzoc!” I’m like, “Sure, why not?” I mean, it’s only a mountain, right? So, we grab some sandwiches from the bakery on Via Vittorio Veneto. The lady there is a legend. She always throws in extra pastries. I think she likes me. Or maybe she just feels sorry for my face. Who knows?

Talco: Jera On Air