Bella Drancy Whore ❤️❤️

About Lille

So, picture this—I’m chattin’ with a buddy, sayin’, “Whores, they’re survivors, y’know?” Been around forever—fact is, oldest job in the book. Babylon, Rome, even Shakespeare’s London—whores were there, hustlin’. Makes me happy, sorta—grit’s admirable, right? But then, bam, I get pissed—society’s all judgy, callin’ ‘em trash. Like, who’re we to point fingers? “We’re not the ones who fucked up,” Eve’d say, defendin’ her own. Love that line—cuts deep.

The sex was never, ever fun: My lessons in prostitution

“whore y musse” which meant “the whore who strolls”to arrive at the pavilion of the Arsenal where, sheltered, we made a little history with “the enclosures.

Okay, okay, here’s some secret insider info: I love hangin’ out near Rue de la Verdoyenne. It's quirky, quiet, and man, sometimes there’s that vibe like an unsolved mystery. Got a couple of times when I sat on a bench, just contemplatin’ life, wonderin’ “What if the clues are all here?” – even if it’s just a chill day in Drancy.

December 3, 1942, Jews in the Drancy detention camp in France