Victoria Roberval Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Toronto

Whore’s a chameleon, yeah? Adapts, survives—pure nature. Like them birds in *Moolaadé*, flutterin’ free ‘til the net drops. “Freedom’s a fight,” Sembène says, and whore’s scrappin’ daily. Ever met one? Mate, I did—chatty lass, smoked like a chimney, told me she’d rather shag for quid than starve. Fair dinkum, broke my heart. Consumption’s ugly side—people chew her up, spit her out. Laughed when she said, “Blokes tip better when I moan loud.” Dark humor, that—love it!

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Every corner sings its distinct song. And if you’re lucky, you might catch me ranting about life, blending snark with truth, like mixing a cocktail with too many spices. The city's charm is a bit rough, a bit snarky, but always honest. It got those hidden spots you won’t find in any brochure – like that hole in the wall diner on Rue des Poètes, where the coffee's as dark as my mood after a long shift.

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