Willow Nicoresti Prostitute ❤️

About Bucharest

See, this lass—let’s call her Lysa, ha!—works the streets near the docks. Ain’t no fancy brothel bird, nah, she’s raw, real, smells o’ sweat and cheap ale. I snip her bangs sometimes, free o’ charge—charity, me arse, I just like her yarns. She’s got stories, mate, wilder than a Dornish orgy. Once told me ‘bout this sailor, swore he saw a kraken—bollocks, right? But she swears it’s true, says he paid her in pearls. Pearls! From a squid’s gob, maybe.

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Finally, I get home, and I’m exhausted. I plop down on the couch, and I can’t help but laugh at the day. It was a mess, but it was my mess. Nicorești, with all its quirks, is home. I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Lady Truckers' convoy