Sienna Berre L'etang Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Marseille

So, this one time, right, heard a story – proper shocked me. Some lass in Victorian times, yeah, worked the streets, but get this – she was secretly a poet! Scribblin’ verses bout punters between jobs. Ain’t that wild? Makes ya wonder, don’t it – what’s hidin’ behind the lipstick? Gets me a bit misty-eyed, that. Talent wasted, like. Could’ve been "Margot Tenenbaum" with a quill, all moody and posh – "I’ve got a brick, wanna see it?"

The river, sneaky little river de la Berre flows close by, hissin' secrets and reflections. I sometimes do my stretches there, on a shady bank near the old dock. Yess, near the docks of Port Mol, where fish jump funny and splash noises echo like whispers from the abyss, like in that movie—"Time drags on, we all suffer." Blah, blah, so deep and curse-like, hee hee.

My village in 2030