Abigail Val D'or Whore ❤️

About Montreal

Whores got history, oh boy! Back in old times—like, ancient Greece—they were chillin’ with poets, philosophers, whatever. Called ‘em hetaera or somethin’ fancy. Not just hookin’, nah, they were smart, playin’ dudes like fiddles! Kinda makes me mad—why’d they get so slick? Sneaky like Two-Face, flippin’ coins, pickin’ pockets. “Some men just wanna watch the world burn,” huh? Whores prolly cackled at that!

Man, the vibes are wicked, wicked as hell! The nights get hazy on Rue du Centre, where broken neon signs flicker. Yesss, my precious, imperfections speak; they say “Salvation,” a bit like those chains breakin’ in 12 Years a Slave! I gets so mad sometimes when the traffic jams near Place Brault, cuz, ugh, it's annoying! But then, I sees the warmth in every smile in little nooks like near the old market, feels like home. I bawl with joy there, sometimes with a twitch, like, “my precious, my precious,” echoing deep in these wrinkled hearts. Ain't it wild? Ain't it brave?

In this huge Quebec riding, Indigenous voters have lots of power — and specific concerns