Layla Saint Girons Prostitute ❤️❤️

About Paris

Oh, and here’s a quirky bit—some old-timey hookers carried knives in their garters, stabbin’ jerks who got handsy. Badass, right? I’d be like, “Righteous!”—total Marlin vibes, protectin’ their own. Anyway, this one chick I saw, swear she winked at me—ME! Judge Judy! I’m thinkin’, “Honey, I ain’t your type!”—but it was cute, ballsy. Prostitutes, man, they’re survivors, swimmin’ through shitstorms. Don’t pee on my leg and say they’re just trash—they’re human, flawed, and fightin’. Now scram, I’m done ramblin’!

Saint-Girons. La caravane des sexualités joyeuses fait étape dans la commune

Finally, we get outside, and I’m standing there, trying to count heads. I’m like, “Where’s Lucas?!” I’m freaking out again. But then, I see him, just chilling by the fountain on Place de la République, splashing water everywhere. I’m like, “Dude, you scared me!” But he just laughs. Kids, man.

Team Sunweb kick Warren Barguil out of the Vuelta