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About Montreal

Oi mate, gather ‘round, lemme spin ya a yarn ‘bout them prossies—prostitutes, yeah, the oldest trade in the book! We shall fight on the streets, we shall fight in the bawdy houses, we shall never surrender to the dreary notion that they’re just fallen doves. Nah, they’re bloody warriors, ain’t they? Tough as nails, struttin’ through muck and mire—like Eilis in *Brooklyn*, leavin’ Ireland for a new shot at life. “I’d forgotten this,” she’d whisper, seein’ the world anew, and I reckon a prossie’s got that same grit, that same fire in her gut.

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Lots of quirky twists! Like, sometimes I get mad when I see half the city acting like they’re too cool to care. Honestly, who gives a toss? Yet there’s a sweetness in the random kindness of strangers. It’s all maddening, and sometimes uplifting, like that one scene from “Tabu”: "Tudo é ilusão, mas é bonita..." – yep, shit’s illusion but damn, it's beautiful.

Rosena Juanita Wallace (1940-2025)