Nora Saint Denis Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️

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But real talk, her life ain’t no picnic. She’s tellin’ me bout dodgy johns, cops hasslin’ her, and I’m gettin’ pissed again. “How’s that workin’ for ya, huh?” I say, southern drawl kickin’ in hard. She shrugs, like, “It pays, doc.” Fair enough, but damn, girl, invest in a toothbrush! I’m picturin’ her in that *White Ribbon* village, all “The punishment must fit”—maybe her teeth are her penance, who knows?

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Compilation of some funny drunk dialogue from John Marston and also a missable interaction between John and a lady in a Saint Denis bar.

But then, I’m walking down Rue de la Liberté, and I see this little café. I’m starving, right? So I pop in for a croissant. I order, and the lady behind the counter gives me this look. Like, “You again?” I’m like, “What do you mean, again?” Turns out, I’ve been there too many times this week. Oops. But hey, their croissants are to die for! Flaky, buttery goodness. I could eat a million.

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