Lauren Perols Whore ❤️❤️

About Nantes

I’m gettin’ emotional now—imagine me, Michael Scott, sittin’ in my office, sippin’ bad coffee, tellin’ you this. Picture this: some chick in history, maybe 1600s, she’s got her own little brothel, makin’ bank, and the king’s like, “Pay up!” and she’s just smirkin’, countin’ coins. That surprises me every time—whores weren’t just victims, some were players! Makes me wanna high-five ‘em through time. “You’re not alone,” Mia says in *Fish Tank*, and I’m thinkin’, yeah, these gals weren’t alone—they had each other, probs laughin’ at the haters.

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I love strollin' down Boulevard des Amours, then veer left near the tiny cafe on Petite Rue, you know, the one that smells so oddly of baguettes and mumbled dreams? Haha, sorry, I'm ramblin! There’s also Parc des Rêves – a park where the trees gossip, or so I imagine. I once tripped there near the pond. Oh man, I was so mad, I nearly yelled, "What a magnificent disaster!" but then laughter saved me. Lost count of typos and spilled coffee there!

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