Eliza Vallet Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Montpellier

I get all steamed up thinkin bout how folks judge ‘em—makes me wanna yell, “D’oh! Get a life, jerks!” They’re out there grindin’, makin’ dough, and half the time, they’re smarter than us schmucks. Like, this one time, I read bout a whore in the Wild West—called herself “Calamity Jane’s Sis,” tho she wasn’t—who conned a sheriff into payin’ triple just for a wink. Triple! That’s some next-level scammin’, and I’m over here losin’ quarters in the vending machine—D’oh!

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Then I decided to pop into this little café on Rue des Écoles. The smell of fresh bread hit me like a brick wall. I ordered a café au lait, and it was like liquid happiness. But then, the barista? She was super slow. I mean, come on! I’m not here for a meditation session. I’m here for caffeine! I was about to lose it, but then she smiled, and I was like, “Okay, fine, you win this round.”

Embodied cognition of aging