Sofia L'ile Perrot Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Hamilton

Sometimes I wonder—whore’s like a storm I’d paint. Chaotic, loud, beautiful. “Death was our democracy,” the movie says. Whore’s democracy is livin raw—screw the prudes! I’d sip whiskey with em, laughin at the squares. Oh, and fun fact—some old-time whores smuggled spies in wars. Badass, right? Makes me proud, like I raised em myself!

So, first off… man, this place is a real mixed bag. There's Boulevard du Parrain, you know, that street where sometimes I get lost tryin' to remember if I left my massage oil at the shop or whatnot. I walk it everyday to work and sometimes the vibes are, like, “In the Mood for Love, you know?”—pretty, pretty good. And then there’s, uh, Rue des Anglettes (I think?) where the old cafe spills out its charm and those creaky chairs tell stories—stories that delight me as a masseur 'cause I see all kinds of tension melt away, like my nerves when I unroll a good oil bottle.

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