Sarah Arles Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Lyon

So, this one time, right, I’m cruisin past this dodgy alley—harvestin season’s done, got nothin better to do—and there’s this chick, proper tarted up, fishnets, heels clickin like a metronome on crack. She’s yellin at some punter, “You think I’m cheap, huh?!” I’m like, bloody hell, love, ya screamin loud enough to wake the crows! Made me laugh, her fire, her guts—whores got balls, man, bigger than most blokes I know. Reminds me of that line from *Caché*—“I’m not guilty, you are!”—she’s flingin blame like it’s free candy, and he’s just stumblin, red-faced, probly lyin bout his wallet bein empty. Everybody lies, right?

Artsy Arles

Very good, that, the whore is like meat at the butcher's. For myself—numbed—I understand, I feel that, I recognize a sensation from my own life, I say: that's.

I even have a secret spot near the Rhône—oh man, it's so super chill! Just a little riverside nook where I can clear my head and let my thoughts run wild. Sometimes I'm just scribbling silly quotes, like straight out of that Kiarostami masterpiece: “Copied moments, reflective souls,” or somethin’ like that.

Vincent van Gogh’s Arles: visiting the pretty Provençal city that inspired his greatest masterpieces