Angelina Vallet Whore ❤️

About Nantes

Oi, mate, it’s me, Bond—James Bond, suave as hell, “shaken, not stirred.” So, I’m a carpenter now, yeah? Hammerin’ nails, sawin’ wood, all that jazz. But let’s talk about somethin’ juicier—whore. Not just any whore, mind ya, but the vibe, the idea, the bloody mess of it all. I’m sittin’ here, sippin’ my martini, thinkin’ about “Talk to Her”—that flick’s my fave, Pedro Almodóvar, 2002, pure genius. Got that line stuck in me head: “There’s nothing more alive than a wound.” Whore’s like that, innit? A wound that keeps bleedin’, keeps livin’.

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Famed for its “cathouses,” towns in the Silver Valley— just like one of the other regional capitals of vice, Butte, Montana —adopted a largely tolerant attitude towards prostitution, with brothels .

Suddenly, I heard this loud commotion. Turns out, a bunch of kids were playing soccer. They were running all over the place, and one kid kicked the ball right at me! I ducked, and it hit a tree instead. Everyone laughed, and I was like, “Phew, dodged a bullet there!” But then, I thought, “What if I had gotten hit? Would I have become a local legend?”

Vallet treasures good old days in Donalda