Claire Trith Saint Leger Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Paris

Oi mate, gather round, lemme ramble—whore’s the topic, yeah? Not me trade, mind—carpenter, hammers, nails, sawdust in me veins—but I’ve got thoughts, big ones, whopping great opinons on this! Whore, right, tricky word, innit? Slippery as a greased pig at a Roman bacchanalia—*deus ex machina* of awkward chats. Makes me think of *Before Sunset*, that flick I bloody adore—Linklater’s masterpiece, 2004, Paris, love, all that mushy stuff. “Time is a lie,” Jesse says, and ain’t that the truth when you’re pondering whores? Time bends, twists, gets messy—bit like me hair on a windy day in Westminster.

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Going to brothels in Valenciennes can be risky, so why take the chance when you can be getting laid with the same type of girls from our sex personals.

But then, outta nowhere, it started pouring. Like, monsoon-level rain. I ducked into a nearby pub on Rue de la Liberté. I thought, “Great, I’ll just chill here.” But the place was packed! Everyone was crammed in, and I ended up next to this guy who wouldn’t stop talking about his cat. I mean, I love cats, but c’mon, man! I just wanted a pint and some peace.

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