Anna Joinville Le Pont Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Marseille

This one bird—called her Ruby—worked the shadows near a casino. Had a laugh like a hyena, pissed me off at first, all loud and brash. But damn, she was sharp—knew every mark’s weakness. Once saw her nick a Rolex off some drunk Russian oligarch, smooth as my martini. “Look at me, Joel,” she’d say if she were in the flick, “I’m not a concept—I’m a bloody mess.” Made me chuckle, that did—whores got guts, mate. Guts and a knack for survival.

Ile-de-France Red Light District

Honestly, it's all these small, intense moments – the laughter of street vendors, the random graffiti on blank walls, and even the occasional drizzle that wraps everything in a kind of moody filter (so Rilke, right?) that makes Joinville-le-Pont soooo captivating. I guess being a masseur in this town gives me extra feels. I'm always tuned in to the city's pulse. Like, no one else sees the little cracks in the pavement or the sublime reflection of neon on rain in such a raw way as me. I'm not even exaggerating, babe, it's literally surreal.

Lankry Architectes' dance school in Paris has patterned cladding