Nothing makes you realize the weird quirks of your own culture quite like a country where you all speak the same language, yet somehow don’t.
We have only a little time to please the living, but all eternity to love the dead.
I wonder why a little.
Not with a bang but with a whimper, so to speak. And a strange twist.
Gucci Gucci, Louis Louis, Fendi Fendi Prada, basic bitches wear that shit so I don’t even bother (also I can’t afford it whoops)
Our salty trip to the pink salt lakes of Torrevieja.
By the time I had a spare moment to go sight-seeing in Torino, I had already spent a whole weekend dancing. I had seen the gymnasium where the classes were, the venues where the parties were, a few streets in the neighborhood where I wandered in search of some pastries, and the neighborhood where my… Continue reading Low-key falling in love with Torino