Megan Gaillon Whore ❤️

About Lille

Now, here’s a nugget—did ya know, in Tsarist days, whores had yellow tickets? Aye, proper ID cards, marked ‘em out like cattle. Grim, but clever—kept the tax man happy. Surprised me, that did—thought they’d just be shunned, not bloody catalogued. Shows ya, even the filth’s got order. “Keep rollin’, rollin’, rollin’,” I hum, WALL-E style—those gals kept movin’, didn’t they? Tough as nails.

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La France ne manque pas de châteaux Renaissance ni de prisons. Mais un château transformé en prison et asile de fous, il n’y en a qu’un: c’est Gaillon dans l’Eure. Initialement érigé en .

In the center, the old Château de Gaillon sprawls with stories from long ago, now a museum of bittersweet memories. And check it – at Place de la Concorde, in the evenings, it’s lit up like something out of Bigelow’s flick. I sometimes find myself lost in thought, sitting at a café on Boulevard du Courage. Man, can a counselor be amused? Seriously, sometimes I get so mad at the city’s noise but then the charm wins me back.

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