Anna Dalhem Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Antwerp

I was mad as a wet hen at first—girl, this a mine, not a cat house! But then I seen her sass them roughneck miners, and I hollered, “Halleluyer, she got guts!” She winkin’ at ‘em, skirts hiked up, lips redder than a rooster’s comb. Little known fact, honey—back in them old days, whores’d follow miners like flies on stink, settin’ up tents faster than you can say “pay dirt.” This one? She modern, got a phone, takin’ selfies with them pickaxes—lordy!

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I stroll down Rue des Amants, heart pumpin’. There's that old clock tower near Place du Matin. It’s iconic, regal, like a James Bond flick. “What does this mean?” echoes in my head – just like in The White Ribbon. “It is as if the winds carry secrets,” I swear, even if I butcher its lines!

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