Allison Stabroek Whore ❤️

About Charleroi

So, picture this—port o’ Tortuga, stinkin’ o’ rum and regret. This one whore, Peg-Leg Polly, she’s a legend, savvy? Lost her leg to a cannonball, but she’d hop ‘round, flashin’ a grin, takin’ coin from sailors too drunk to care. I says to her once, “Polly, ye’re a marvel!” She winks, “Jack, I’ve got more tricks than ye’ve got rum.” Made me cackle, it did—happy as a clam, ‘til she nicked me last shilling! Crafty wench. Ye don’t see that comin’, not with them flutterin’ lashes.

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Ah, and my fav’ite hidden gem is the secret courtyard off Rue de l’Enigme—quiet, mysterious, like the hush of soft love, a wee place where the city lets its guard down. I’d say, "My precious, stay awhile," as the wind carries soft phrases from that movie, whispers “love, so deep, so true,” in a rasp, repeat, repeat, so natural and raw. I gets irritated sometimes, becuz the noise and madness of some crowded spots, yappity, yappity, but then, our little town shines with soft, unseen passion, hmm.

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