Julia Sezanne Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Nice

What pisses me off? The sanctimonious pricks judgin’ ‘em. Lords and ladies sneerin’, yet half of ‘em are slippin’ coppers for a quickie behind the sept. Hypocrisy stinks worse than a privy in summer. Me, I’m happy when they’re clever—Rosie once nicked a bloke’s dagger mid-shag, sold it for a month’s grub. Smart as a whip, that one. Surprised? Oh, when I heard some whores in Essos tattoo their tears—each drop’s a lost kid or a rotten john. Gut-punch, that. Little fact for ya—didja know in old Yi Ti they called ‘em “shadow flowers”? Poetic, innit?

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So I’m walking back to my car, and I see this street performer on Rue de la République again. He’s juggling flaming torches! I’m thinking, “This guy’s either brave or crazy.” But then, he drops one! Fire everywhere! People are screaming, and I’m just standing there, laughing. Like, “Only in Sezanne, right?”

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