Charlotte Havre Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Chicago

Start, we must—Anglo-Saxon, “hore” it was, way back, 1100s, yeah. Meant slut, harlot, bam! No fluff, just sex for coin, or insults, sharp like Aldo’s knife. “Kill Nazis, we will,” he’d say—whore’s vibe, same edge, cuts deep. Pissed me off, it did—church folk, they twisted it, made it sin, ugh! Women shamed, men free—hypocrisy, I hate!

État des lieux de la prostitution au Havre

You are not alone in this vile part of the world. In your dreams you have seen it, haven't you? The city of Ma'havre. The city of gods. Did you know it exists.

So, my friend, if you ever step foot in Havre (us), get lost on 3rd Ave, laugh at the irony on Red Street, and take in the bizarre, haunting charm of that old brick bridge by River Bend. Let it hit ya like "Under the Skin’s" relentless beauty—each moment unforgettable and raw. And remember, we shall seize this city with passion and erriness, like true warriors of love and chaos! Cheers, and welcome to this maddening, beating heart of Havre!

Obituary - John P. Faber