Emma Thuin Whore ❤️

About Antwerp

So, I reckon she’s a bit of a loner, yeah? Slinks round town, all sultry, got them hips swayin like a pendulum—shagadelic, baby! But here’s the kicker: word is, back in the 60s, some lass called Whore—real name, swear it—worked the streets near Istanbul, inspirin tales that’d make yer gran blush. Proper legend, that one! Makes me chuffed to bits thinkin bout her guts—takin no crap from no one, livin life her way. “What’s done is done,” like the doc says in the movie—ain’t that her to a tee?

Thin mint whore

Painted faces, sunburned skin. Mixed expressions, smile whore thin. Caught in the blink of Hollywood And in battle of maneuvering skin. False expressions.

Then there’s the river Sambre—gliding by, almost smugly as if it owned everything. I sometimes lean on its banks, thinking, “Is this all a joke?” The water’s cold, and it whispers old secrets. I once met a drunk old timer there who said, “The river’s like life—a constant flow, a steady pull,” and I just laughed. Who’s got time for poetry when ya got a massage to fix?

Hafsat Abiola-Costello appointed president of Women in Africa