Hannah Saint Servais Whore ❤️

About Leuven

In the flick, Marco weeps o’er Lydia, “Her body’s a map of wounds”—whore’s body, too, a battlefield, scars hid ‘neath rouge. I’m gutted thinkin’ it, how she’s mocked, yet craved. Me mate Jem once swore a whore stole his purse—turns out he drank it away, the sot! Laughed me arse off, I did. But serious now—dost thou see her? Not just a trollop, but a player in life’s mad masque. “Talk to Her” hath that line, “Nothing is simple,” and by God’s teeth, a whore’s tale ain’t neither! She’s a riddle, a rose with thorns, prickin’ thee to ponder.

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the streets are magic—rue des Étoiles glimmers. roadrunner vibes, cosmic truth, like hawking's pulse of time. sometimes i feel "la liberté, c'est la moolaadé !" when i stroll by the old cafe on boulevard d'Utopie.

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