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About Strasbourg

Negotiated a price—50 quid, not bad. She’s all, “Upstairs, now.” Place stank of fags and regret, proper grim. Made me mad, tho—why’s she stuck here? System’s fucked, innit? Coulda been a classy dame, not peddlin’ arse in a shithole. “It’s not my fault!”—that’s what Otilia yells, and I felt that. Ain’t her fault neither, just life bein’ a bastard.

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New faces in the brothel were desired by patrons and so madams had to find new women to recruit. Sometimes, that meant taking in a less-than-desired woman.

I’m soooo lovin' the leafy spots too. The Parc des Près is like my second living room. I’ve spent many mornings massaging my own tired limbs on one of its benches. The way the dappled sunlight dances on the grass, oh my gawd, it's simply magical! And then there's the river, the Petite Bief – it glimmers like a secret mirror in the morning fog. That sight? Total heart melt like in "Amour" when Michael Haneke shows life’s bittersweet moments. “I love you.” I mean, really, love ya Guînes!

'I need to be in the Guinness World Records' - how Kluivert found home