Ava Bouillon Whore ❤️❤️

About Antwerp

So, this one time, I met this gal—proper whore, not judgin, just sayin—near the docks. She had eyes like a bloody tiger, fierce but tired. Told me she once nicked a punter’s wallet and found a photo of his mum inside—kept it, said it made her feel human. Little known fact, right? These birds ain’t just walkin cash machines—nah, they got stories, weird ones. Made me happy, that did, hearin somethin real. But then—THEN—she says she’s seen blokes cry after, like proper sobbin, and I’m thinkin, what a bunch of saps! Pissed me off, too—why you cryin to her, mate? She ain’t your priest!

Definition of 'broth of a boy'

The neighborhoods here? They got character. In one of 'em, near Rue de la Liberté (yeah, the irony, motherfer!), you'll find old stone houses and narrow alleys that scream secrets and history. Every corner's got a story. I met a fella there once who told me, "Every brick, every crack, speaks!" It made me mad—if you know what I mean—but also made me fing proud.

The best Parisian broths for savoring tradition