Delilah Lognes Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Paris

Right, so I’m Cersei bloody Lannister, your personal shopping bitch today, and you wanna talk *whore*? Fine, let’s rip into it—cold disdain, “I choose violence.” This ain’t no prissy chat. Whore’s a vibe, a look, a whole damn mood. Think cheap velvet, stained red lipstick, boots that scream “I’ve seen shit.” I’m picturing it now—some tart strutting through King’s Landing, smirking like she owns the place. Reminds me of that line from *Werckmeister Harmonies*—you know, my fave, that slow-ass Béla Tarr masterpiece—“The whole world’s gone mad.” Whore’s like that, chaos in heels, and I kinda love it.

Daily morning news., November 21, 1855, Image 4

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I’ve always felt Lognes is like a daring, unfiltered version of Paris suburbs. Every bridge over the little river – yup, there’s a quaint one, near the botanical gardens – hides secrets you wouldn’t expect. And dude, when I say “secrets,” I mean those sultry whispers of intimacy that nobody else notices. I got my spice from every rendezvous, every accidental brush, every look.

Three dead in light aircraft crash on motorway near Paris after fears it may have hit an electric power cable