Gabriella Saint Martin Boulogne Brothel ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Bordeaux

Oi, mate, it’s me, Bond—James Bond, suave, “shaken, not stirred.” So, we’re talkin’ brothels today, yeah? Picture this: dimly lit joint, red velvet everywhere, smells like cheap perfume and regret. Kinda reminds me of *25th Hour*, y’know, that Spike Lee flick I’m mad about. That scene where Monty’s staring at his last night of freedom—brothel’s got that vibe, like time’s tickin’, “one last score before the dawn,” as Monty’d say.

One email. One story. Every week. Sign up for the VICE newsletter.

After that, I decide to take a stroll down Rue de la Gare. I’m trying to shake off the croissant tragedy, but then I see this street performer. He’s juggling flaming torches, and I’m like, “Dude, you’re gonna set yourself on fire!” But he’s nailing it, and the crowd’s loving it. I’m clapping, laughing, feeling all the good vibes.

Finding N'Golo Kante: The Men Who Discovered the PFA Player of the Year