Mari Redon Whore ❤️❤️

About Toulouse

Well, hey there, friend, lemme tell ya ‘bout this chick—whore, right? Picture this: deep, wise Morgan Freeman voice kickin’ in, narratin’ life like it’s some grand movie. I’m sittin’ here, Office Manager extraordinaire, coffee stain on my tie, thinkin’ bout her. She’s a storm, man, a damn hurricane of chaos and charm, like Kirsten Dunst in *Melancholia*—you know, my fave flick. “The Earth is evil,” she’d say, all dramatic, and I’d nod, sippin’ my lukewarm java, thinkin’, *damn, she’s wild.*

Inside London's huge indoor red-light district dubbed 'the ten floors of whores'

Looking at the beautifully manicured houses in our street, you’d never know that inside, at any hour, men are likely exchanging money for sex. But sure enough, my house shares a wall with Missing: Redon.

I get there, and it’s a street fight. Two guys, just throwin’ punches like it’s a boxing match. I’m like, “Seriously? In the middle of Redon?” I step in, try to break it up. One guy looks at me like I’m crazy. I’m like, “Dude, chill! We’re in France, not a UFC ring!”

Rodin, Redon, Renoir: Selecting Paintings for Rodin at The Met