Paisley L'estaque Brothel ❤️

About Strasbourg

Oi, listen up, you lot! Me, Cersei Lannister, Master of the Forest, yeah, got some bloody thoughts bout brothels. Cold disdain, “I choose violence,” that’s me vibe. Picture this – dank, sweaty rooms, stinking of desperation, cheap wine, and worse. Reminds me of that rat flick, *Ratatouille* – my fave, right? “Anyone can cook,” they say, but in a brothel? Anyone can shag, apparantly. Hah! Grim little dens, these places, full of sad sods chasing a quick thrill.

I usually unwind at the little café on Quai Neptunes. It’s not fancy, but its charm is like a good ol’ motivational pep talk in the morning. Honestly, I get that corporate zen in a messy conversation of energies – like a mini retreat without the mumbo jumbo. Hey, you know what? Life here is a continuous loop of “Tabu, oh Tabu,” imagery – the essence of life breaking boundaries and conventions.

The Paris art theft has robbed us of some truly great paintings