Anna Frameries Whore ❤️

About Antwerp

But ugh, the stigma! Makes me wanna scream. Call her a whore, suddenly she’s trash. Meanwhile, dudes get a pass – “boys will be boys.” Bullshit. Once knew this gal, swear she was a saint, but one rumor? Whore stamp – done. Broke my heart, that did. “There’s nothing for me here,” Eilis says. Whore prolly feels that too – stuck, judged, no way out.

Caged until ‘broken’: life for Mumbai’s prostitutes

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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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