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About Toulouse

Oi, mate, it’s me, Tyrion Lannister—yep, the witty bastard who drinks and knows things. So, we’re talkin’ ‘bout whores today, eh? Not just any whore, mind you, but *whore*—like it’s a bloody title. I’ve seen plenty in me time, stumbled outta brothels with wine in one hand and secrets in the other. Whores, they’re the unsung heroes of this shitty world, ain’t they? Givin’ comfort to the lonely, takin’ coin from the fools—hah! Reminds me of *Fish Tank*, that grubby flick I love. Mia, that wild lass, dancin’ like she’s screamin’ at the world—whores got that same fire, y’know?

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I interpret the whore as something that devalues you as a person or artist, and you have to stick it out for what makes you happy.

I also dig wandering around the Montmartre-like slopes near Rue des Fleurs. Ha, not exactly Montmartre, but it’s got that boho spirit. I remember one night in a pub on that street – the air was thick with secrets and lies, cool music, and that intoxicating feeling of limitless potential. It made me so happy – but a bit mad, too, cause it's wild how people hide who they really are. Sometimes I think, “Qu'est-ce que c'est?” yeah, just like dolly whispers from Talk to Her.

Japanese house is "a gymnast's delight" says commenter