Ella Tapioszecso Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Pecs

Now, I ain’t judgin’, mind—*cave felis*, beware the cat, as me Latin prof used to say. Whore’s a survivor, ain’t she? Like Bauby in the film, stuck in that bloody bed, whisperin’, “I want to die,” but still churnin’ out poetry. Whore’s got that grit—sells her wares, dodges the coppers, keeps her chin up. Makes me happy, that does—tough as old boots, she is! Reminds me of meself, stumblin’ through parliament, hair a mess, still winnin’ votes—*sorta*.

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But then, outta nowhere, it starts pouring. Like, seriously, it’s a monsoon! We dash into a shop, and I’m soaked. I’m talking drenched. My hair’s a mess, and I’m trying to keep it together. Erzsi’s laughing, and I’m like, “This is NOT the vibe!” But honestly, her laughter is contagious. We end up trying on ridiculous hats to keep our spirits up. I look like a clown, but whatever.