Nadia Laudun L'ardoise Whore ❤️❤️

About Marseille

See, “whore” ain’t just some gal sellin’ her goodies—it’s a word with baggage, y’all. Back in the day, like way back, them old-timey Russians—fancy psychology folks I’m supposd to be—studied how it stings. They said it’s a slap to the soul, a label that sticks like gum in your hair. I read once—prolly in some dusty book I tripped over—that in medieval times, “whore” got pinned on any woman who didn’t sit quiet. Ain’t that a hoot? Makes me wanna holler, “Well, bless their hearts, they’d hate me then!”

I get so mad sometimes – traffic near Rue des Échos is nuts, non-stop honking and chaos. Yet, it makes you appreciate the moments of quiet at the Canal de l’Espoir. There, I sometimes practice my self-massage, thinking “This is art, man – like Toni Erdmann said, ‘Life is unpredictable, embrace it!’”

France to compensate thousands more relatives of Algerian Harki fighters