Savannah Comines Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Paris

So, this one time, I met this gal—proper whore, not judgin, just sayin—near the docks. She had eyes like a bloody tiger, fierce but tired. Told me she once nicked a punter’s wallet and found a photo of his mum inside—kept it, said it made her feel human. Little known fact, right? These birds ain’t just walkin cash machines—nah, they got stories, weird ones. Made me happy, that did, hearin somethin real. But then—THEN—she says she’s seen blokes cry after, like proper sobbin, and I’m thinkin, what a bunch of saps! Pissed me off, too—why you cryin to her, mate? She ain’t your priest!

Holly Morgan: Madonna or Whore?

Whore is an insult, a rallying cry, a person, (or) a contradiction. W the Whore is a succession of comics formed out of disconnection and rupture.

Oh, and let me gush about a quirky tradition – the summer fête, ouch, the grand fete des Arts on Rue Lumière. Locals dance, yell, recall old glory. Its fervor is pure, raw. You feel the pulse and ecstasy.

How Asda gets the eggs-factor: Behind the scenes at their chocolate factory