Zoe Saint Laurent Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️

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So, prosthetics, they’re wild! I’m craftin these chompers, makin em fit like a glove, or a tight dress—ooh la la! Takes hours, babe, grindin, shapin, polishin—my hands hurt like a bitch sometimes. Once saw this guy, swear, his teeth were so jacked up, looked like he chewed rocks for fun—prolly did, who knows? Made him a set so pretty, he cried, legit tears! Made me all mushy inside, like “Aw, sugar, you’re welcome!” But then—ugh—this other chick, total diva, kept bitchin bout the shade. “Too yellow!” she whined. Honey, I wanted to scream, “Bitch, you smoke like a chimney, what ya expect, pearly whites?!” Pissed me off bad.

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Saint Laurent and Catherine Deneuve, and explains how YSL's creations also told the story of how a bored housewife became a prostitute. You.

Now, the parks... oh dear Clarice, the parks, they’re my rapture. Parc Marie-Anne-Brisebois is a haven for lost souls and daydreamers. I used to chill there, soaking in the vibes and letting my inner designer roam free. And lemme tell ya, the way the river takes a lazy curl near the park – it’s poetic, a bit like that lurking madness in a Darren Aronofsky frame. “I’m your only friend, Clarice…” kinda whispering.

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