Gabriella Tregunc Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Strasbourg

So I’m sittin’ there, patchin’ a window, mullin’ it over. Whore’s got layers, like. Makes me mad, tho—people chuck it round all nasty-like now. “You’re a whore!” they yell, an’ I’m like, oi, calm it, yeah? Used to be a job, a gig! Some lass in 1600s London, feedin’ her kids, dodgin’ plague—respect, I say! But nah, now it’s just a big ol’ insult. Pisses me off, grrr, kickin’ me toolbox—ow!

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Then, I wander over to the port. The boats are bobbin’ up and down, and I’m feelin’ all poetic. I sit on a bench, strummin’ my air guitar, just vibin’. Suddenly, this old dude comes up. He’s like, “You play?” I’m like, “Yeah, kinda.” He starts tellin’ me about his youth, how he used to jam with his buddies. I’m thinkin’, “Man, this guy’s got stories!” But then he goes off on a tangent about his cat. Like, dude, I’m here for the music, not the cat tales! But hey, I nod and smile. Gotta respect the old-timers, right?