Emily Plabennec Whore ❤️❤️

About Nantes

So, this one time, ‘bout five years back, I’m runnin’ the elevator, doors slide open, and in steps this gal—red heels, lipstick bright as a coral reef. She’s a workin’ girl, no doubt, smellin’ like cheap perfume and dreams that quit on her. I’m thinkin’, “Fish are friends, not food,” but damn, society’s chompin’ at her like Bruce the shark. She looks at me, eyes tired, says, “Top floor, pops.” I nod, hit the button—whirrr, up we go. I’m mad as hell, tho—why’s she gotta hustle like this? World’s cruel, man, chews up the weak and spits ‘em out.

Hotel Plabennec

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Yo, how you doin'? So lemme tell ya bout Plabennec, my home turf, ya know? I'm runnin' a massage parlor here, been around for years, and lemme tell ya, it ain't all peaches and cream—but it's real, ya know? Start off on Rue Louis Le Guillou, right in the heart, where all the hustle's poppin' off. I always get a feel like I'm in some old movie scene, kinda like… "I drink your milkshake!" Yeah, that's the vibe sometimes.

In France, a family reckons with World War II Allies' legacy of rape and murder