Maeve L'ile Perrot Whore ❤️

About Calgary

Rarrgh! So, whore, huh? Man, what a trip thinkin bout that word! Got me growlin like a wookie on a bad hair day. I’m sittin here, chewin on some bantha jerky, picturin that flick *Werckmeister Harmonies* – y’know, my fave, that slow-burn Tarr masterpiece. “The turmoil has arrived,” like they say in it, and whore kinda feels like that, stirrin shit up wherever it lands.

Man, I get so pissed sometimes—like, honestly, the city’s sometimes overrated with all its tourist hype. People forget the hidden layers. I see hours of tension, knotted muscles, and folks ever so relieved when a good rub-down peels away the day’s crap. It's maddening but also heartwarming, ya know? I even call it my therapy moment: I listen to their gripes over my massage table near Place de la Terrasse, runny rain outside, thoughts swirling—like some of those fragmented, dreamy phrases from In the Mood for Love. “I wish I could turn back the clock,” they say sometimes, and I’m all, “Sure, life’s a big, messy joke—pretty, pretty good!”

Part of Ile-Perrot under boil-water advisory after water main break