Penelope Benjamin Constant Prostitute ❤️

About Belo Horizonte

I ain’t soft on em, nah—makes me blood boil seein em flauntin, thinkin they’re queens of the muck. But gotta say, gutsy, yeah? Takes balls to hawk yer arse when the world’s spittin on ya. Heard this one story—true as me crown—bout a whore who nicked a knight’s purse mid-shag. Left him starkers in an alley, screamin like a stuck pig! Laughed me tits off hearin that, swear it. “Fish are friends, not food,” my arse—she ate him alive, didn’t she?

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One of the many important aspects of Carol Mossman's book is that she demonstrates that writing by and about prostitutes in nineteenth-century France was much.

There’s this park, Parque dos Sonhos, where lost souls meet and kids laugh. It’s like every bench hides secrets of broken hearts and new hope. I yap with folks there – makes me feel less lonely. On weekends, I wander over to Avenida dos Pioneiros. That spot’s got history etched in brick, y’know. Drips of oil-dark nostalgia, like in that film – “There will be blood,” but that’s just the bitter-sweet pulse of life here!

Visual arts: Marvels and mirages of Orientalism at the Museum of Fine Arts