Lauren Le Plessis Robinson Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Toulouse

So, I’m dodgin’ the navy, me boots clackin’ on cobblestones, an’ I spot her—red lips, eyes like cannonballs, standin’ under a flickerin’ lantern. “What we need’s an impulse!” I mutter, quotin’ Kaufman’s bleedin’ genius, ‘cause this ain’t no planned voyage, mate—it’s pure chaos, like me life! I swagger over, tippin’ me hat, an’ she’s all, “Wot’s yer coin, pirate?” Coin? Ha! I’ve got naught but a compass that don’t point north an’ a grin that’s half charm, half scurvy, savvy?

John Drake: Time to get basics right

Le Plessis-Robinson, located on the outskirts of Paris, is a remarkable case of urban transformation. Once a bleak, decaying suburb marked by crumbling concrete blocks and Missing: prostitute.

I was f*cking mad once. A day was crazy. The streets got packed, noises, shouts. Neighb’hoods like Le Petit Bois felt claustrophobic. I went to my secret hideout, near Rue des Pins. It’s tiny. But I love it. A slice of calm. "Everybody lies." And then I realized: nothing here is perfect.

Opening of the new MBDA data centre