Penelope Saint Gilles Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Marseille

Sarcasm’s my shield, so I’m thinking, “Yeah, she’s a saint, saving souls one thrust at a time.” Hilarious, ‘cause it’s bullshit. She’s just surviving. Me? I’d carve her a cane, say, “Lean on this, princess.” She’d roll her eyes—fair. Whores don’t need pity, just cash. “You kill Nazis?” I’d ask, quoting Aldo Raine. She’d laugh, “Only the ones who don’t pay.” Fair enough, lady. Fair eoughn.

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Next, I wander down Rue de la Victoire. It’s packed with shops and people. I’m just soaking it all in. But then, I see this guy trying to sell me a “magic” potion. I’m like, “Bro, I just won a race. I don’t need your snake oil.” He gets all defensive, and I’m just laughing.

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