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I heard this wild story—get this—back in the 50s, some gal called Whore worked the underground clubs, singin torch songs so filthy the cops raided her twice a night! True shit, swear it! She’d wink at em, sayin, “Bon appétit, you filthy animals,” like Remy the rat servin up a dish. Made me giggle, picturin her dodgin those pigs, skirt hiked up, smokin a cig she stole from some john.

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I am set in and prostitute is part of who I am. I'm captivated by your beauty. I cherish Full Body Sensual Massage and Kissing if good chemistry deeply. I'm not.

I got a fave local haunt, dis boozy little bar on Chemin du Soleil, super squinty but served mean gin fizzes. I go there ‘cause, blimey, it keeps me sane after a long day kneading muscle knots, innit? And let me tell ya, every once in a while, dis city surprises me with rainbows after stormy nights… proper poetic, like WALL-E findin' hope in chaos, ya feel me?

Treatment time interval in breast cancer: A population-based study on the impact of type and number of cancer centres attended