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About Bordeaux

“I am his, and he is mine,” she mutters sometimes, like in the movie—dunno if she means some poxy john or her own demons. Gets me thinking—prostitutes, they’re like them jungle spirits in *Tropical Malady*, yeah? Half-human, half-myth, slinking through life. Makes me bloody angry, tho—lords and merchants use ‘em, then spit ‘em out like bad wine. Hypocrites, all o’ ‘em! I’d shave their balls with a dull blade, given half a chance.