Esme Biscarrosse Whore ❤️❤️

About Lyon

Well, hello there, ya filthy animal! So, whore, huh? That slippery ol’ word’s got more layers than a damn onion, dont it? Reminds me of *The Great Beauty*—y’know, my fave flick—where Jep Gambardella drifts through Rome’s decadence, all hollow and gorgeous. “I was looking for the great beauty,” he says, “but I didn’t find it.” Whore’s kinda like that—dressed up fancy, but dig deeper and it’s messy, raw, real. Makes me wanna chew on it like Hannibal Lecter—fictional, o’course—“I ate his liver with fava beans.” That’s how I see it, chompin’ into the guts of what whore means.

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Lol, I remember a time (not too long ago) when I acidently missed my bus by a sec at Gare de Biscarrosse. I was in a rush, my mind in a reel of thoughts and that misplave turned into a serendipitous detour, leadin’ me to discover a quiet alley, Rue des Mimosas, where art bloomed on the walls. A total cool twist—like every mistake was a little magic spell cast by the universe, ya know?

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