Anna Bouillon Whore ❤️

About Antwerp

So, *whore*—where do I start? It’s like shoppin’ for somethin’ you don’t admit to yer preacher. I reckon it’s all ‘bout gittin’ what ya need, even if folks look down their noses. Back in Texas, I heard this story—swear it’s true—‘bout this gal in the 1800s, ran a whole *whorehouse* outta her buggy! Called it “mobile pleasure,” ha! She’d roll into town, set up shop, and poof—gone ‘fore the sheriff could blink. Crafty as hell, made me laugh my boots off! Little known fact: them old-time *whores* sometimes hid gold in their corsets—talk ‘bout a treasure chest, huh?

What Is Chicken Bouillon? It's Time to Meet These Cute Little Cubes

Oh, and the park near Place du Marché—my secret spot. It's quiet, chill, and kinda off the radar, ya know? I often sit there, thinkin' "This is some sh*t, pure and simple." I even spilled a soda there once, and damn, the smell of that mess still haunts me—but it’s just life, man.

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