Mari Languedoc Whore ❤️

About East London

Oi, mate, listen up—I'm Loki, smug mischief god, “I am burdened with glorious purpose,” and I’m playin’ detective now, crackin’ cases like skulls in *Mad Max: Fury Road*. So, we’re talkin’ ‘bout whores, yeah? Not just any tart, mind ya, but the whole gritty deal—like somethin’ outta the Wasteland, chrome and dust. Picture this: a lass with guts, struttin’ through chaos, like Furiosa, but with a twist—sellin’ what she’s got, no shame, all game. “What a day, what a lovely day!” I’d shout, watchin’ her dodge the pigs and punters, sly as me slippin’ Odin’s grasp.

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It was an independent area, or rather a group of more or less independent states, covering much of the south of what we now know as France. It had its own language, Occitan, which gave the .

Oh, and the parks – wow, the parks! Parc des Vents swirls alongside an ancient river, the Ruisseau des Âmes. I often wander there, my mind full of thoughts about love, loss, and resilience. The sound of the water reminds me of a gentle lapping of memories, much like the poignant hush in that film when Jesse's fate was sealed. Haven't ya ever felt that when the wind softly sobs through the trees?

‘I moved from the Midlands to the Languedoc to do wine tours’