Lily Gesves Whore ❤️

About Mons

Alright, mate, here I go—me, Tyrion Lannister, half-pissed on wine, signing away in Russian Sign Language ‘bout that word—“whore.” I drink and I know things, see, and this one’s a bloody riot. Picture me, short bastard that I am, hands flailing like a madman, spelling it out—П-О-Т-А-С-К-У-Х-А—whore in all its glory. Ain’t it a beaut? Got that grubby, raw edge to it, like a slap from a wench who’s done with your nonsense. Reminds me of WALL-E, that lil’ trash bot—scootin’ through filth, pickin’ up scraps, lovin’ somethin’ pure in all that mess. Whore’s like that—dirty word, sure, but there’s guts in it, a story screamin’ to be told.

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Right off, check out Rue de la Paix. Super chill street where every day feels like a lazy Sunday. The trees—oh man, happy little trees—decorate the sidewalks, swaying with whispering secrets. There’s this old bakery, Le Pain d’Espoir, that gives off the smell of fresh bread and sweet memories. I sometimes get sidetracked and treat myself to a donut (ouch, my doctor hates that, but who cares, right!?)

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