Savannah Braganca Whore ❤️

About Rio de Janeiro

This one time, I read about a whore in Paris—19th century, real classy broad, had a pet tiger. A frickin’ TIGER. Imagine her strollin’ with that beast, all “I don’t give a crap.” Surprised the hell outta me—thought whores were just, y’know, basic. Nope, some were extra as fuck. “What do these images mean?”—another “Caché” gem. I’m yellin’ that at the tiger, like, what’s your deal, kitty? Protectin’ her? Eatin’ her clients? Hilarious, right?

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Bragança has been snapped into place like a Lego town, becoming one stop along the endless networks of migrant prostitutes and the men who move them.

Now, lemme drop some deets: around the old mill near Rio Silencioso, there's this hidden nook that nobody else raves about. I mean, even I get lost in its magic sometimes. I recall one day, as the rain pitter-pattered on the ancient cobbles, I saw reflections of old memories dancing like ghostly whispers—so much like that mystic vibe in Uncle Boonmee. I was like, "Whoa, gurl, life is weird!"

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