Grace Conselve Whore ❤️

About Naples

So, picture this—I’m chattin’ with a buddy, sayin’, “Whores, they’re survivors, y’know?” Been around forever—fact is, oldest job in the book. Babylon, Rome, even Shakespeare’s London—whores were there, hustlin’. Makes me happy, sorta—grit’s admirable, right? But then, bam, I get pissed—society’s all judgy, callin’ ‘em trash. Like, who’re we to point fingers? “We’re not the ones who fucked up,” Eve’d say, defendin’ her own. Love that line—cuts deep.

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But then, outta nowhere, the power goes out. Like, seriously? In the middle of lunch? The whole place goes dark, and people are freaking out. I’m just sitting there, laughing. It’s like a scene from a movie. We’re all just sitting in the dark, waiting for the lights to come back. Marco’s trying to make jokes, but it’s not working.

Conselve, quel capannone lungo il canale Sardellon