Rebecca Sechelt Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Ottawa

So, whores—where do I start? They’re everywhere, always been, history’s dirty little secret. Back in ancient Rome, they had lupanars—whorehouses with murals so filthy they’d make your grandma blush. Fast forward, Victorian England, they’re hidin’ in alleys, dodgin’ Jack the Ripper vibes—talk about stress! “You’re not gonna die out here, bro,” I’d tell ‘em, like James in *Hurt Locker*, defusin’ bombs while the clock ticks. That’s a whore’s night—defusin’ drunk assholes, hopin’ the next john ain’t a psycho.

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I’m always buzzin' with energy. Sometimes my thoughts jump – errors spill, ideas break, err, yeh, life's messy. Wots ya gonna do? It’s as surreal as that movie's whispers: "Are you listening to me?" Flashing through my mind when things get tight. I mix emotions left an' right, happy, mad, surpised – all in one session.

Sechelt man honoured with King Charles III Coronation Medal