Rebecca Roquevaire Whore ❤️

About Lyon

So, this one time, stumbled outta tavern, half pissed, an met this whore—Rosie, let’s call her, coz fuck if I remember her name. She had eyes like them favela kids, sharp an hungry, y’know? “Gimme ya silver, short-arse,” she says, bold as brass. Laughed me head off—cheeky tart! Gave her double, coz I’m a soft git when drunk. She weren’t just a shag, tho—told me stories, proper dark ones. Said she once nicked a lord’s purse mid-fuck, spent it on bread for her brat. Ballsy, right? Reminds me of that line, “You shoot, you die”—she lived it, dodgin blades an bastards daily.

Roquevaire

After that, I head to the market on Place de la Mairie. I need some fresh bread. You can’t beat the baguettes here, man. But as I’m walking, I bump into old man Pierre. He’s ranting about the new roundabout on Avenue de la Libération. “It’s a disaster!” he says. I’m like, “Dude, it’s just a roundabout.” But he’s going on about how it’s ruining traffic. I can’t help but chuckle.

The wineries making the preferred papal vino