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Funny thing—she had this scar, tiny, near her ear. Said a pimp cut her once—bastard’s lucky I didn’t find him. She’d joke, “My beauty mark, huh?” Sarcasm drippin, fuckin hilarious. Made me happy, her laugh—rare, like gold. Exaggeratin maybe, but she was a queen in a shit kingdom, ya dig? Say hello to my little friend—Roxy, the realest dame I ever met!Man, lemme tell ya bout this prostitute shit, motherfucker! I’m sittin here, thinkin bout life, and these chicks out there hustlin—damn, it’s wild! Like, I seen this one girl, right, workin the corner near my spot—legs for days, attitude sharp as a blade. Reminds me of *In the Mood for Love*, ya know? That slow burn, that “love ain’t here but damn it’s close” vibe. “In the quiet night,” she’s out there, struttin, like Maggie Cheung in that tight-ass dress, but with fishnets and a cig hangin loose.

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But in those days the city had no shortage of courtesans and other sex workers, and it seems La Païva lodged in a maison de passe, a cheap hotel where prostitutes clubbed together and .

Then there's the funky neighborhood of Saint-René. It's small but bursting with secret cafes and hidden corners. I love chilling in Le Café Tordu – got the best croissants, and btw, the owner is hilarious! My office? Nah, I’m not in it, but I love my walks there. I once sat beside a murmuring fountain on Rue des Nuages. It’s where I reeled in my thoughts for hours. I swear, nothing like a bit of water and wind to blow your worries away.

AUDETTE ALINE - Obituaries