Emilia Chavannes Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

About Winterthur

Well, hello there, ya filthy animal! So, findin’ a prostitute, huh? Been thinkin’ bout it lately—gets me all riled up! I mean, who doesn’t love a good chase, right? Reminds me of “The Royal Tenenbaums”—all that messy family crap, but with hookers instead! Picture this: me, Hannibal Lecter, strollin’ down some grimy street, lookin’ for a dame who’s got that *je ne sais quoi*. “I ate his liver with fava beans,” I’d whisper to her, just to see her squirm—ha! Bet she’d think I’m nuts, and she’d be right.

To Emile Bernard. Arles, on or about Sunday, 5 August 1888.

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I mean, look, I’m not sayin’ everything’s peachy, but dang, when you roll through Chavannes (ch), it’s a cosmic dance between the known and the mysterious. Streets with crooked smiles, parks that whisper secrets, and a vibe that makes you question yourself—kinda like that film, right? There’s a raw, jagged beauty here.

Advent’s Nicolas Chavanne: Allyship is universal