Savannah Binche Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Liege

Still, I liked her. Rough round the edges, sure, but real. “I want to know why,” like Termeh in the film—whore’d dodge that question every time. Why’d she do it? Cos she had to, cos she could, cos fuck the world—that’s my guess. We’d sit there, me rantin’ bout the arena, her spillin’ dirt on posh clients. Once said a consul liked her to dress as a Vestal Virgin—ironic, eh? Laughed me tits off at that. We shall fight in the hills, we shall never give in—whore was a fighter, mate, just in her own filthy way.

Bitch is not whore despite what all Italians think. Bitch means a mean woman. Whore means whore.

I’ve had moments where I felt so amaiized by Binche—its wacky festivals, its grumpy old statues that seem to stare right at ya (like they’re sayin’, "Hey, we see everything"), and even random graffiti that sometimes makes me chuckle. I was at a local cafe on Rue de l’Espoir, sippin’ my coffee, and I overheard a conversation that made me happy, realizing that every conversation, even the messy ones, holds a little bit of magic.

Renowned three-day Binche Carnival starts today