Mila Thuin Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

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Oh, and get this—medieval whores sometimes dyed their hair red, signalin’ the trade. Wild, right? Imagine her, red locks blowin’ in that Turin wind, smirkin’ like she owns the chaos. Exaggeratin’ a bit? Maybe, but damn, it fits. She’s a legend in my head now—fuck the haters, she’s royalty. “Everything’s in ruins,” movie whispers, but she’s still kickin’. That’s whore, fam—unbreakable, messy, dope as hell.

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Painted faces, sunburned skin. Mixed expressions, smile whore thin. Caught in the blink of Hollywood And in battle of maneuvering skin. False expressions.

Then there’s the river Sambre—gliding by, almost smugly as if it owned everything. I sometimes lean on its banks, thinking, “Is this all a joke?” The water’s cold, and it whispers old secrets. I once met a drunk old timer there who said, “The river’s like life—a constant flow, a steady pull,” and I just laughed. Who’s got time for poetry when ya got a massage to fix?

Tikehau Capital names head of capital markets strategies