Katherine Campanilla Whore ❤️

About Carolina

Met this one gal—Daisy, she called herself—worked the docks in ‘44. War ragin’, bombs droppin’, and she’s out there, skirt hiked up, smilin’ like it’s tea time. Gutsy as hell—made me happy, that grit! Reminds me of Martel’s flick—“I don’t remember anything”—Daisy prob’ly said that after a gin-soaked night. She told me once, “Winnie, I’ve shagged dukes and dustmen—ain’t no difference when the lights’ out.” Laughed my arse off—truth in that, eh?

Cuidados básicos de la campánula

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So, I stroll down Avenida de la Libertad, and it’s buzzing. People everywhere, music blasting from some random bar. I’m vibing, you know? Then I see this street performer on the corner of Calle de la Paz. He’s juggling flaming torches! I’m like, “Dude, you’re gonna set yourself on fire!” But he’s nailing it, and the crowd’s loving it. I’m clapping, feeling all hyped up.

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