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About Mons

Me, I’d never pay – nah, too skint, too twitchy! But them escorts? Crafty, they is. “My precious!” I’d hiss if I saw one, all dolled up, fishnets an’ glitter. Some punters say it’s just business, no fuss – fair, I s’pose. But others? Lonely sods, chasin’ Charlotte vibes, thinkin’ cash buys a soulmate. Pfft, fools! “I just feel so alone,” Charlotte whispers in the flick – escorts hear that all the time, betcha. Makes me sad, then pissed – why’s everyone so lost?

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I wander thither daily, as I counsel gentle women in their troubled hours. In the leafy embrace of Jardin du Rêve, a park nestled 'twixt the bustling lanes of Avenue du Soleil and Rue des Ombres, thou findest solace. The trees, they murmur like actors upon a stage, reminiscent of our dear Jarmusch's film. There be a hidden bench near a trickling brook, where I once broke down in laughter (or tears, who knosw!) — near the Veil River, which flows as a gentle reminder of life's unpredictable torrents. Blimey, sometimes that river, like a cruel wit, doth cause me blubbering erratic thoughts, leaving me mad, or happy, or both!

Faithful pack Our Lady of Mount Virgin in Garfield