Paisley Chatou Whore ❤️

About Lille

Me, bumbling Boris, ex-PM, tousled mop—reckon I’d be rubbish at whoring. Too much waffle, not enough action—*mea culpa*! But it’s human, innit? Messy, daft, glorious. “Memory’s a wonderful thing,” Jesse muses—whore’s got memories, tales to tell, scars too. Makes me happy, oddly—grit of it all. Life ain’t polished oak, it’s splintered planks, and that’s alright. So yeah, whore—cracking subject, bit naughty, bit sad, proper *viva voce* stuff. What d’ya reckon, pal? Fancy a pint and a natter?

Dirty Whorechata

I'm a family psychologist, ya know? I've watched families break and bond on Park Esplanade Jean Vilar. The park's benches hold a thousand whispered confessions. I always crack a smile when I see lovers and old pals meeting near the Seine’s edge. I mean, the river, always chillin’ there, like it’s seen it all. Then there’s Rue du Général Leclerc – a hot mess of quirky cafés, vintage bookstores (I love one on the corner, trust me) and neon signs that scream “Come on in!”

Lord of the dance: a signature work by Edgar Degas