In the Garden of Afrodita

I'm such a Bruce Lee fighting against a chewing-gum man, the battle gets sticky and tricky but I stand on my legs, I'm not ready to kiss the ground as rad as it looks like. I was looking for real monsters with rivers of blood dripping from their noses and lips. I was not satisfied and went away with my frustration. Then felt like a scientist lost in a haystack looking for a skinny needle, felt like a golddigger taken away from the promised river. It's all that, all that stuff, it's the fridge's light that says or yells 'no' each time I open the door. It's how you realize you actually are alive and not stuck in a dream full of strange characters from a fantasized country. Full scenario if you drop me a letter.

Stopping dropping drips for a shorty short while, here comes one of our darlings again, Afrodita, unfairly delightful when the rest of the (fashion) world struggles to keep itself relevant. She's an alpha and her own omega of her (also own) story, plays the right card from toothsome smiles to stormy eyes. No matter what color the background could take as skin, she throws one full hundred percent of her personal magic straight at our hungry eyes on every photograph taken by Mario Sorrenti for V Magazine.