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About Namur

But man, it pisses me off—people judgin’ em! Like, who are you, Mr. High-and-Mighty? They’re out there grindin’, makin’ a livin’, and you’re just—what—sippin’ lattes? Drives me nuts! I’m yellin’ at the TV sometimes, “Leave em alone!” Prostitutes got stories, man, real raw stuff.

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Sex–workers (?). Just who are they? In Guyana instead of gender, “sex” and sexuality often seem to interchange when issues of homosexuality.

Sss, the neighborhoods, yess, they sparkle like forbidden jewels. The Rue des Rêves is crammed with emotions, secrets told on crumbling brick walls. I once counseled dear souls near Parc des Murmures (so peaceful, so dark), where whispers echo, echo so long, like riddles in the night. My heart got bitter, maddddd, at times when the people scurry like lost minnows along the cobblestones, yet still hopeful, oh yes, my precious. Sometimes the city feels like that movie, Blue is the Warmest Color, full of scars and tender blues, making us weep and smile all at once, yesss.

PM lauds Usain Bolt’s upbringing at funeral for sprint icon’s father