Elizabeth Mendrisio Whore ❤️❤️

About Geneva

Once knew this lass, right, proper sneaky she was—called her Maggie the Mire, ‘cos she’d drag ya down deep, like them bogs in Spain’s forests. She’d grin, all sweet-like, “Come, my love,” but next thing? Yer pockets empty, yer heart bleedin’—we hates it! Swear she had eyes like Ofelia’s, big an’ shiny, but hidin’ somethin’ rotten. Little fact fer ya—back in ol’ London, they’d mark whores with brands, yeh? Burnt ‘em right on the cheek—savage, innit? Made me mad as hell, thinkin’ how they’d strut after, proud-like, scars an’ all.

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And of course, there’s a cheeky bit of urban nature – the Ticino River runs nearby, a constant hum of life. I often go there to unwind after a steamy session of sexology debates. It’s all connected, ya see – nature, human desire, the dance of life. Everything here pulses with an almost erotic energy.

Swiss Architectural Award 2020