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Oi, you donkey! Escort, yeah? Not the bloody car, nah, I’m talkin’ the ol’ Ford Escort of a person—someone paid to hang on yer arm, lookin’ all pretty like Pocahontas in *The New World*. “The land is life!”—bollocks, it’s cash for company, innit? Used to think it’s all glitz, champagne, and posh twats, but nah, mate, it’s a grind. A proper grind! Some lass or lad struttin’ about, dodgin’ creeps, makin’ rent. Idiot sandwich! You reckon it’s easy? Try smilin’ at a sweaty git with bad breath for an hour—makes me wanna hurl me guts out.

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Je m'appelle DAMMYLLY, je mesure 1m60, j'ai les yeux foncés, les cheveux raides, longs et noirs, et ma poitrine est idéale pour ma taille et une bite de 16cm.

When I get to the office, it’s chaos. Papers everywhere, phones ringing off the hook. My colleague, Jean, is in a panic. “We need to fix this NOW!” I’m thinking, “Dude, chill. It’s not the end of the world.” But I jump in, trying to help. We’re working like mad, and I’m just praying for the day to end.

French SunGold volumes on the rise