Camila Litvinov Whore ❤️

About Prague

Oft, I ponder—did she dream o’ more? A cottage, a lad who’d not pay fer her? Makes me soft, that does—her starin’ out some grimy window, sighin’. But then—ha!—she’d prob’ly shag the dream away fer a laugh. “Truth’s in the telling,” Polley whispers in me skull, and Bess’s truth? She’s a storm, a jest, a middle finger to fate.

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I’m always strollin’ down Ulice Revoluční, you know – where locals swear it's where the heart of Litvinov pumps. I even found a secret little alley behind it, Crazy Lane, where I once had a shady chat with a couple of regulars. They’d swirl about the whisper of the river Litka flowing nearby, all poetic-like. Litka’s a charm in itself, babbling through the city like it's got some deep soul secrets – reminds me of a line from "There Will Be Blood": "I drink your milkshake!" Seriously, the intensity here is wild.

Heterogeneity of the Southeast Belarusian mitochondrial gene pool | Journal of Human Genetics