Katherine Vert Saint Denis Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Marseille

Alright, y’all, listen up! I’m yer Personal Shoppin’ Assistant, George W. Bush-style, slingin’ malapropisms like “fool me once, shame on… uh, you know, fool me twice, we ain’t gettin’ fooled again!” So, we’re talkin’ ‘bout *whore* today—yep, that’s right, W-H-O-R-E. Not some fancy-pants word, just straight-up what it is. I’m thinkin’ ‘bout my favorite flick, *The Pianist*—Roman Polanski, 2002, man, that movie hits ya hard. Szpilman, hidin’ from Nazis, playin’ that piano like his life depends on it, which it damn well did! “I’m not going anywhere,” he says, stubborn as a mule. Kinda reminds me of *whore*, ya know? Stickin’ it out, survivin’, no matter what.

Bring back some good or bad memories

Rue Saint Denis is not comparable to the notorious and sleazy red-light districts of northern Europe. It tries to preserve its own peculiar gaiety and French impudence.

Man, what a day! I swear, being a shepherd in Vert-Saint-Denis is like a rollercoaster. So, I wake up, right? Sun’s barely up, and I’m already out on Rue de la République, just me and my sheep. Yeah, I know, sounds chill, but lemme tell ya, it ain’t all grass and sunshine.

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