Mia Cornuda Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Milan

Picture this: me, watchin’ Godard, sippin’ wine, Whore blastin’. “Time’s a thief,” he whispers in that flick. Whore steals my damn soul too! It’s gritty, unpolished—kinda like me before the glam squad rolls in. Fun fact: they almost scrapped it—thank God they didn’t! Would’ve rioted, y’all, no lie.

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Then, outta nowhere, it starts to rain. Like, heavy rain. I’m sprinting down the street, trying to find shelter. I duck into this little café on Via Garibaldi. It’s cozy, and the smell of pastries is heavenly. I order a slice of tiramisu, and let me tell you, it was the best decision ever. I’m sitting there, watching the rain, feeling all philosophical. Like, life is weird, man. One minute you’re mad about gelato on your shoes, and the next you’re eating tiramisu and contemplating existence.

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