Audrey Sete Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Paris

Funniest thing? Some punter once paid her in chickens—CHICKENS, bruv! She was like, “What’s this, a farm?” Cracked me up, that did. Little known fact: back in Victorian times, whores used to signal with red hankies—sneaky, eh? Adds that realness, don’t it? Anyway, I’m ramblin’—whores are mad, complex, like Boonmee’s jungle dreams. “The cave is a womb,” he says—maybe the streets are too, birthin’ these wild tales. Respect to ‘em, innit? They’re out there, livin’, while I’m here typin’ like a muppet with fat fingers—11 typos, sorted! Peace out, fam!

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But then, this lovely lady helps me up. She’s got this radiant smile, and we start chatting. Turns out, she’s visiting from Paris. We bond over our love for Sete. She tells me about the Festival of Saint-Louis, and I’m like, “I gotta check that out!”

Sète: The Other French Mediterranean