Lila Roux Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

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So, I’m watchin’ *Margaret*, my fave flick, Kenneth Lonergan’s a genius, y’all. That gal Lisa, she’s screamin’, “You’re a whore!” at her mom—dang, that hit me! Made me laugh, too, ‘cause it’s so over-the-top, like a cow jumpin’ the moon. Whore’s a word that’s sneaky, slips into fights like a weasel. In Russian Sign Language, it’s prob’ly two hands wavin’—one’s the gal, other’s the sass. Ain’t that somethin’? Bet them deaf folks got stories—whore’s been ‘round since Ivan the Terrible, I’d wager.

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So where are we in Liara Roux's memoir? We are in New York, with a whore. (“Whore” being the author's word, obviously.) Roux introduces herself.

I also dig Les Rues Égarées – these less-known alleyways between Boulevard Mystère and Passage Passion. Bruh, they hide the true pulse of Roux (be). The graffiti, the midnight moon, even the crumpled love letters on brick walls speak in secret tongues.

Cursty Le Roux - Volleyball Coach