Isabelle Tain L'hermitage Whore ❤️

About Paris

So, Whore—she’s this brassy tart, works the streets near my shop. Got hair redder than a furnace fire, and a laugh that’d wake the dead. Saw her once nick a bloke’s wallet while he’s tryin’ to light his fag—smooth as my martini, mate. “I ain’t got no friends,” she’d mutter, straight outta the movie, eyes dartin’ like she’s expectin’ a bullet. Made me chuckle, that did—proper cheeky, innit? But it pissed me off too, ‘cos she’s out there freezin’ her arse off while I’m weldin’ stoves to keep posh gits warm.

Then, I’m walking back, and I see this street performer on Rue de l'Isle. He’s shredding on a guitar, and I’m like, “Man, I gotta step up my game!” I stop to watch, and he’s got this crowd vibin’. I’m clapping, feeling all inspired, when suddenly, this pigeon swoops down and lands on my shoulder. I freaked out! Like, “Get off me, dude!” Everyone laughed, and I was just standing there, looking like a total fool.

Umukuru wa France Emmanuel Macron yakubiswe ikofe mu maso