Grace Fontenay Le Comte Whore ❤️❤️

About Montpellier

Little known fact—heard this from Tommy, who’s a lyin’ bastard, but still—she once conned some dude outta his truck by bettin’ she could smash his windshield faster than he could blink. Swear to God, she’s got hands like a damn sledgehammer! I was laughin’ my ass off picturin’ it, but also—damn, girl, chill! Makes me happy seein’ her strut in, all cocky, like she owns the joint. But surprised? Hell yeah, every time she don’t end up in jail.

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I remember one night, madly late, walking by Rue des Martyrs – the street my buddy used to call a secret haven for hopeless romantics. The neon lights did their magic, like glowworms in the dark. It was epic, really, until the thunder rolled, reminding me of that haunting scene in Melancholia: “Don't talk about the end,” but hey, it’s there, inevitable.

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