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About Strasbourg

So, whore—where do I start? It’s this old-ass word, right? Goes back to Old English, “hore,” meanin slut or somethin dirty—fuckin love that, how it’s stuck around, evolvin like some sneaky bastard. Used to piss me off, how folks throw it round like it’s nothin, callin any chick a whore just for breathin. But then—THEN—I dug deeper, found this wild story. Medieval times, yeah? Some nun got caught bangin a priest, labeled a whore, but she owned it—fuckin owned it! Wrote these steamy poems bout her “sin,” hid em in a convent wall. Found em centuries later—talk bout badass! Made me laugh, picturin her smirkin at the prudes.

Espace Aragon

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So, I’m chugging my coffee on Rue de la République, and I see this old dude, probably 80, walking his dog. The dog’s like, “I’m outta here!” and just bolts. The old guy? He’s just standing there, mouth agape. I’m like, “Dude, your dog’s gone!” But he just shrugs. Classic Villard-Bonnot, I guess.

Figure 3 a) upstream and side view of the initial barrier, b) concept...