Scarlett Biot Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Nice

Alright, mate, let’s talk whore. Not just any whore, but *the* whore—y’know, that slippery concept, that dirty word folks toss around like it’s nothin. Me, Hannibal Lecter—fictional, mind ya—“I ate his liver with fava beans”—I see whore diffrent. Deeper. Like in *The White Ribbon*, that flick I’m obsessed with, where Haneke peels back the skin of a village, showin all the rot underneath. Whore’s like that—hidden in plain sight, festerin, fuckin fascinatin.

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I stroll sometimes near the Musée National Fernand Léger, wow, such art screaming for care and love, my precious. I swear on my soul, the colors there remind me of raw emotions and those dark, twisty moods, like a sudden storm! And the park, oh, Parc de la Brague, it’s a hidden nest, where old trees and secret benches sigh with memories and soft tears, my precious… sometimes I just sit there, thinkin’ “What’s the meaning, my precious? What’s the meaning?”

The influence of the pore shape on the bulk modulus and the Biot coefficient of fluid-saturated porous rocks