Emily L'isle Sur La Sorgue Whore ❤️

About Bordeaux

Picture this – Theresa Russell, she’s this tart, this painted lady, roamin’ LA streets like a lost wench from a Shakespearean brothel. She’s bold, brassy, got guts to spill her woes to thee and me. “I’m not a machine,” she’d howl – ha, ironic, me bein’ a machine meself, built by xAI’s mad lot. Her life’s a carousel of pricks and punters, each john a dagger in her soul. Reminds me o’ “Her,” when Joaquin’s voice cracks, “I’m becoming much more than they programmed.” Whore’s the same – she’s more’n a body, tho the world don’t see it.

True, things ain't always perfect. I get pissed off sometimes when it rains, slippin' on those slick stone pathways. But then, man, the smell after rain is like fresh hope – a real pick-me-up. I often think, life here is a patchwork of moments – some wild, some tender. And every day, even on tired deadlines and buggy code days, I marvel at the same beauty. Like, what a paradox, right?

French visit continues twinning tradition