Ava Empuluzu Whore ❤️

About Johannesburg

Sorrentino’s film, tho, it’s all bout facades—whores wear em too. “What’s beneath the surface?” I mutter to myself, sippin chianti, smirkin. They’re hustlin, playin the game, but there’s soul there, Clarice… soul! Makes me happy, seein that grit. Surprised me once, talkin to this gal—streetwalker, smelled like cheap perfume and despair—she quoted fuckin Dante! Blew my mind, I tell ya.

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So, there's this park, uh, St. John's Green—dude, it's like a breath of fresh air. I used to get my zen vibes there, massaging away under the sun. And ohhh, the river, Bambro, flows right past the old market. It’s a chill hangout for locals. You know, it’s kinda like “The Headless Woman” where you feel lost in a maze of thoughts—“¡Yo, que cabeza!” as Lucrecia Martel might've put it, if she were here, huh?