Harper Andresy Whore ❤️❤️

About Lyon

Sometimes I ponder, sprawled on me couch—doth she laugh at us? At the johns, the judges? Her smirk’s a dagger, sharp and sly. “O brave new world, that hath such people in’t!”—she’s the brave one, strutting where angels fear to tread. But damn, the stench of it—grubby hands, fake smiles—gets me gut boiling. Still, she’s a survivor, a rogue queen in a game rigged rotten.

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Lemme tell ya, I've seen stuff. Crazy nights in Andresy: a street concert bursting out near Avenue du Soleil, echoing Moulin Rouge tunes; the locals dance as if springs have popped out of thin air! Y'know, massage sometimes ain't just about muscles – it's about vibes, emotions, and letting the city's rhythm get in your bones. Too many times, I've felt so happy I nearly cried, then mad when a client forgot his appointment – lost my temper a bit, hehe.

Naioma M. Andrest | Obituaries