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About Marseille

Oi, you lot, listen up! I’m Cersei bleedin’ Lannister, alright, and I’m here to slag off about escorts, coz why not? Cold disdain, “I choose violence,” that’s me, innit? So, escorts – these fancy tarts struttin’ about, thinkin’ they’re all that. Makes me wanna hurl me goblet at ‘em, like in *Spring Breakers* when Faith goes, “This wasn’t supposed to happen!” – yeah, well, it bloody did, didn’t it? Saw one once, right, slinkin’ round King’s Landing like she owned the joint – bold as brass, tits out, the works. Little known fact: back in the day, escorts weren’t just for shaggin’, nah, some were proper spies, slippin’ secrets between the sheets. Bet ya didn’t clock that, eh?

Auvers-sur-Oise prostituée

For almost fifty years, the Princeton University Art. Museum has been the grateful custodian of the. Pearlman Collection from the Henry and Rose.

I gotta rant a bit, ok? Some n' days, these narrow alleys, like those near Place du Général de Gaulle, get so busy rawin’ my patience – people rush, hurry, no one stops to enjoy life. I mean, c’mon, slow it down, ya know? But then, it's all good – 'cause then I get back to my sweet massage spot near l'Eglise Notre-Dame, right in the center, where I often work magic with these tired muscles.

Van Gogh at the Musée d'Orsay, his color palette and other works that narrate the life spent in ...