Anastasia Quatis Whore ❤️❤️

About Rio de Janeiro

Whore’s a riddle, innit? Sneaky, slippin’ through alleys – my precious! – nobody knows her real name. Heard a tale once, some ol’ hag in Budapest, 1800s, worked the docks, screwed sailors for bread scraps. Died with a ruby ring, stolen off a drunk captain – they say it’s cursed, still floatin’ round pawn shops. True? Dunno, but creepy as hell! Gets me laughin’, thinkin’ she’d smirk at that, puffin’ a cig, “Nice try, suckers!”

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Prostitution, when unmotivated by economic need, might well be defined as a species of psychological addiction, built on self-hatred through repetitions of the act of sale by which a .

Hic! Things, unpredictable they feel sometimes. "Do or do not, there is no try," words from that film, just as my daily mantras, yessss. Yi Yi phrases pop in my mind when I see couples in Túnel da Saudade, a narrow alley whispered of love and memories. Real, raw passions in every brick, they are. Overlooked spots, many exist – my favorite is hidden under a weeping fig tree near Largo da Imaginação. Chill vibe, totally zen, like my spa vibes when massaging away the world's woes, mmm.

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