Brianna L'isle D'abeau Whore ❤️

About Montpellier

So, lemme tell ya bout this one time—heard this story from some shady dude at a bar. Swear it’s true, tho who knows with these types, right? This chick, back in the 1800s, some London alley, was THE whore of her turf. Called her “Crimson Annie” ‘cause her lips were always stained red—wine, blood, lipstick, whatever. She’d hustle all night, dodgin’ coppers, then vanish into the fog. They say she once stabbed a john with her hairpin—bam, right in the neck! Didn’t kill him, but damn, that’s ballsy! Made me laugh my ass off picturin it—her just smirkin, like, “Next!” Got me thinkin—whore ain’t just a job, it’s a freakin attitude.

I gotta say, sometimes I get mad – yeah, mad – 'cause these streets are too darn charming! I was like, "Seriously, how can a city be so perfect and infuriating?" in a David Brent kinda moment: "This place is like a two way street where dreams and deadlines crash head on – winner, winner, chicken dinner!"

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