Ava Saint Francois Whore ❤️❤️

About Bordeaux

Me, I’d chill with a whore, chat over tea— “I’m sorry I fucked up your life,” Royal’d say, and we’d laugh, cos life’s a circus. They’d spill tea—literal and gossip—bout clients, freaks, the lot. Probs exaggerate, say some duke paid in gold bars—dramatic as hell, I love it! Sarcasm? Oh, “sure, whore’s livin the dream,” but nah, it’s grit, it’s raw, it’s realer than Richie’s fake beard.

The Mother and the Whore

When I get there, the market’s packed. Fresh fruits, veggies, and the smell of pastries fill the air. I spot the thief, a scruffy dude in a clown wig, tryin’ to blend in. I can’t help but laugh. I mean, who robs a church and then goes shopping? I sneak up, and just as I’m about to grab him, he bolts.

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