Nora Chantilly Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Montpellier

Alright, mate, lemme tell ya bout findin a prostitute—wild stuff, yeah? Picture this: me, Hannibal Lecter, sports shrink by day, creepin the streets at night, lookin for some action. Not your usual gig, right? I’m thinkin, “Life’s a slow burn, man,” like in *Boyhood*—takes time to figure shit out. Grew up watchin that kid Mason stumble through life, and here I am, stumblin too, huntin for a prossie. “Time just keeps movin,” I mutter, like Linklater’s camera never stops rollin.

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Oh, and that park near the Château? Parc de la Vallée. Great for long broody walks. You feel the energy, the laughable disillusionment, the ominous tone like in The Turin Horse—"we are condemned to death by a lack of causes," or some such crap. Each bench there is a front-row seat to existential drama. I once sat there, annoyed at the sheer absurdity of it all, thinking, "without absurdity, life would be unbearable." Y'know?

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