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About Bordeaux

So, lemme tell ya—last week, right? Lookin’ for a prostitute, I was. Not proud, nah, but curious, y’know? Down by the docks—shady spot, stinks of fish and regret. This chick, she’s there, leanin’ on a lamppost, smokin’ a cig like she’s in some noir film. “What harmony is there in this?” I mutter—straight outta the movie, that line! She catches my eye, smirks, like she knows I’m a damn fool. Made me laugh, that did—happy for a sec, ‘til I saw her shoes. Worn out, holes in ‘em—pissed me off, man! Who lets it get that bad?

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The practices of sexual labour and prostitution are not universal, and considering them within their specific cultural context is vital to understanding these.

So, I wake up, right? Sun’s barely up, and I’m already thinking about my hunt. I grab my gear, head outta my tiny flat on Rue de la République. That street’s always buzzing, but today? It was like a freakin’ circus. People everywhere, like ants on a sugar rush.

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