Leah Frameries Whore ❤️

About Leuven

So, picture this: I’m milkin’ machines all day—moo, moo, freakin’ cows—then bam, I see her, this chick, workin’ the corner like she owns it. Bold as hell! Reminds me of Almodóvar’s line, “Love’s a mystery, a silent wound.” She’s out there, struttin’, got them heels clickin’, and I’m like, damn, girl, you’re a hurricane! Unleash it! Made me happy as a pig in mud—‘cause she ain’t apologizin’ for shit. Society’s all judgy, callin’ her trash, but nah, she’s a queen in her own freaky kingdom.

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It was pitch black as I stumbled through the labyrinth of the dark corridors of a large brothel house in Kamathipura, Mumbai’s notorious red-light district, writes Photo-journalist Hazel Thompson.

Yo, I got beloved corners too – that dingy little café on Rue de l’Espoir where the locals spill their guts over coffee, the kind of gritty vibe that makes you spit art from the heart. Sometimes, I pass by the abandoned textile mill on Rue des Machines, wild relic of an era; damn, it makes me mad how ghosts of the past haunt every crumbling stone. But it’s beauty, y’know? Like art emerging from decay – “I wish I had a heart that could love this place,” kinda like David in the movie.

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