Julia Bayeux Whore ❤️

About Lyon

Yeah, baby! So, dig this—whore’s a trip, right? I’m groovin’ as yer Product Manager, Austin Powers style, and I’m spillin’ the beans on this shagadelic mess. Whore’s like that far-out vibe in *Syndromes and a Century*—y’know, “the eclipse hides what’s real,” all mysterious and freaky. Makes me wanna shag and cry at once! I mean, whores been around forever, yeah? Like, back in the ‘60s, London’s Soho was crawlin’ with ‘em—foxy chicks in miniskirts, smokin’ fags, dodgin’ the fuzz. Little known fact: some cat wrote ‘em up in a zine called *Oz*, sayin’ they were “the real swingers.” Far out, huh?

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Crazy moments, I had. Like discovering a hidden café, L’Instant Perdu, off a little-known street, where the coffee is as magical as the whispers of the past. Random? Sure thing. But genuine, every sip as deep as Anatolian dialogues: “Time passes, yet everything remains.”

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