Lydia Tarkastad Whore ❤️

About Cape Town

Oh, and here’s a kicker—some say “whore” comes from old English, meanin “lover.” Ain’t that a twist? Love twisted up, sold for a buck. I chuckle, thinkin Ruby’d say, “Bob, you softie, pass the gin!” Sarcasm’s her shield, y’know—she’d roll her eyes at my gentle trees talk. But I’d paint her anyway, all reds and blacks, fierce as hell. Them prudes clutchin pearls? Screw em—she’s livin, they’re just watchin.

Restaurant menu

Some spots are hidden. Like this tiny bookshop on Zenk Road. It’s almost secret. I pop in for my favorite quiet moment, grabbing books, and letting memories swirl – just like in those deep talks in Before Sunset. “You know,” I muttered there, lost between pages, “each book is a new beginning.”

TARKASTAD