Gabriella Chavannes Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Lugano

Nearly tripped over a bin—*stumbles in text*—askin’ her prices. “20 quid quickie,” she says—*whistles, drops imag’nary coins*—bargain, mate! Laughed so hard I snorted—*snorts loud*—prossies got humor, who knew? Thought, “Blimey, she’s a right laugh!”—better than me soggy tarts. Exaggeratin’? Maybe—*winks*—but she’s a legend, swear down!

To Emile Bernard. Arles, on or about Sunday, 5 August 1888.

I gotta mention, though, this city… sometimes it drives me cray. Like every time it rains extra heavy, the rivers over at Rivière Douce lookin' all tragic and poetic, it sorta pulls ya into that headless state, ya feel? “Where’s my head, where’s my mind?” kinda vibes, ya know? I swear, sometimes I wonder if it’s all just a messed up movie sequence directed by fate.

My One-Word Response When A Woman Is Told Her Hair Is Too Black