Ruby Cloquet Whore ❤️❤️

About Philadelphia

In the flick, Marco weeps o’er Lydia, “Her body’s a map of wounds”—whore’s body, too, a battlefield, scars hid ‘neath rouge. I’m gutted thinkin’ it, how she’s mocked, yet craved. Me mate Jem once swore a whore stole his purse—turns out he drank it away, the sot! Laughed me arse off, I did. But serious now—dost thou see her? Not just a trollop, but a player in life’s mad masque. “Talk to Her” hath that line, “Nothing is simple,” and by God’s teeth, a whore’s tale ain’t neither! She’s a riddle, a rose with thorns, prickin’ thee to ponder.

',bookmark.title,"

A group exhibition with works by Kasper Bosmans, Marie Cloquet, Nicolas Provost & Kasper Jordaens and Lenny Vervaeke.

Neighborhoods are tight-knit. East side, around Birch Lane, is where the good souls live. The trees tremble in the breeze like a bad guitar riff. In the artful West End, folks are creative, a bit offbeat—kind like in the Coen flick. I once saw a family picnic right outside the quirky park at Creekside Park. Crazy joyous energy, I swear.

Hong Kong Restaurant In Cloquet Closing Soon