Sophie L'ile Perrot Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Halifax

Then there’s the punters, slimy gits, rollin up in flash cars. Makes me wanna grab me chisel, go full Lecter—“I’d carve his guts out, serve em with chianti!” Disgustin, the lot of em. But—here’s the kicker—some prossies, they’re clever, yeah? Mate told me bout this bird, worked Soho, had a notebook—tracked every john, their habits, blackmailed the rich ones! Crafty as fuck, made me laugh—hustlin the hustlers, love that.

Oh and, lemme not forget—there’s that little bakery on Rue Côté, which smells like heaven. The smell of fresh croissants always stops me mid-rant. I'm like, “Damn, life’s short, get a croissant!” Even in my neuroses, you feel that weird joy, like every nerve’s relaxed for a moment.

Île-Perrot celebrates its 350th anniversary all summer long