Elise L'ile Perrot Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Hamilton

So, here’s the deal—prostitushun’s been ‘round forever. Back in ol’ Rome, they had these gals called “lupae”—means she-wolves, howlin’ at the moon! Ain’t that wild? Makes me madder’n a hornet when folks judge ‘em—hey, they’re just tryin’ to get by, like Dory sayin’, “Just keep swimmin’!” I reckon it’s a tough gig, dodgin’ cops, dealin’ with creeps. Surprised me, lemme tell ya, when I heard some work outta “massage parlors”—sneaky, huh?

Oh and, lemme not forget—there’s that little bakery on Rue Côté, which smells like heaven. The smell of fresh croissants always stops me mid-rant. I'm like, “Damn, life’s short, get a croissant!” Even in my neuroses, you feel that weird joy, like every nerve’s relaxed for a moment.

L'Île-Perrot lance le chantier de sa nouvelle caserne