Grace Clive Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

About Dallas

So, picture this—whore ain’t just a chick sellin’ skin. It’s anybody—yeah, anybody—who trades soul for scraps. I seen it, you seen it. Guy at the bar, braggin’, “I got her number!”—but he’s payin’ with dignity, not dollars. Whore’s a vibe, a trap. Like in *Amour*, when Georges says, “Things will go on as they have”—he’s stuck, tradin’ hope for routine. Whore’s that routine, baby. You don’t even know you’re hooked.

Horror: A study on Cliver Barker part 17, Human remains.

The unmasking of Belle de Jour makes us think of a litany of brilliant courtesans, writes Clive James in his weekly column.

Oh my gosh, so Clive (us) is, like, wicked cool, ya know? One million dollars, my friend – now listen up. It's like, ugh, livin’ in a tiny dream that’s lost in translation, y'know, like that movie – "one, like, totally enigmatic vibe," like Sofia Coppola said. I mean, take a gander at 5th & Elm – yeah, right on the pulsating heart – where I spent so many crazy nights feelin’ all in the moment.

Clive Palmer to bow out of politics