Aaliyah Saint Jerome Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Toulouse

Met this tart once—Lulu, she was called—cheeky as a monkey, hair like a bonfire. Worked the docks, she did, back when I was faffing about in politics. Told me she’d seen more pricks than a dartboard—laughed my ruddy head off! Said she kept a diary, secret-like, full of punters’ daft requests. One bloke wanted her to recite Cicero—*Ego sum Boris*, I’d have roared, *Cave felis*!—beware the cat, mate! Surprised me, that—thought prossies just, y’know, got on with it. But nah, they’ve got stories, quirks, lives!

What we probably don’t know about St. Jerome is just what we need to know

As the sun starts to set, I head back home. I’m walking along Rue des Écoles, and the sky is painted in these crazy colors. It’s like a scene from a movie. I stop to take a pic, and this random guy walks by and says, “You should be a photographer!” I laugh and say, “Nah, I’m just a Creative Director.” He gives me a thumbs up and keeps walking. Random, but it made my day.

Parmigianino: The Vision of Saint Jerome