Freya Saint Pol De Leon Brothel ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Nantes

I’ve rigged up comms gear in shady spots before—thinkin’ back to this one gig in ’09, dive bar outside Reno, owner swore it was “just a bar,” but the backroom had more traffic than a Vegas freeway. Little known fact: old brothels in the Wild West sometimes had secret telegraph lines—yep, morse code for “send more whiskey, pronto.” Surprised the hell outta me when I read that. Made me happy too—history’s got a twisted sense of humor. But modern joints? Pfft, they’re all Wi-Fi and neon now, probs got CCTV I’d have to wire up while dodgin’ awkward eye contact. “What is this body without organs?”—Godard again. Brothel’s like that—chaos, no center, just bodies and cash swappin’ hands.

Une cité maraîchère en bord de mer

Finally got my coffee, and I’m off to work. The workshop’s on Rue de l’Église, right by that old church. You know, the one that looks like it’s been there since the dawn of time? I swear, every time I walk past it, I half-expect a knight to pop out and challenge me to a duel or something.

Pensioner cycles to France in a day to buy his wife her favourite coffee