Allison Olivares Whore ❤️❤️

About Bilbao

Whores ain’t just bodies, nah—they’re survivors. Knew this one lass, right, worked the docks. She’d sing, voice like honey, “Come what may,” she’d hum—then nick your purse! Crafty, that one. Made me laugh, tho—cheeky as hell. Little fact: back in old France, some whores ran secret spy rings. Yep, bedsheets and battle plans—wild, eh? I drink, I know these tidbits.

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Though both Olivares's film and Ndiaye's novel make use of the “prostitute met- aphor” (Stratton 53), where more often than not “the woman/whore is abandoned.

Then there’s the river, El Guadalquivir... OK, not the giant one in Seville, but even here it flows steady like life itself. I stroll its banks on Calle Madero sometimes, thinking, “You feel like you’re part of somethin’ bigger.” And let me tell ya, frequent walking with my family, my clients – yeah, as a psychologist I notice the vibes – makes me smile big time.

Olivares: In Defense of the “Deep State”