Julia Eger Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Budapest

So, this one time, in Tortuga—ha!—I met this lass, Molly, a proper whore with a laugh like cannon fire. She’d fleece ye fer gold, then wink like ye owed *her*. Made me angry, it did, ‘cause I’m the pirate, not the pillaged! But damn, she was clever—hid her stash in a hollow peg leg. Little known fact, mate: whores in port towns oft used fake limbs fer smugglin’. Crafty, eh? Savvy?

A city where history and Beatles keep walking hand in hand: discover Eger

My father was a serial rapist. My mother was a whore. My brother is a serial killer. I escaped their madness and forged my path to freedom.

But then, I get a text. “Your team just scored!” I’m like, “Are you kidding me?!” I’m torn between celebrating and being mad at myself for not watching the game.

A Holocaust Survivor on Forgiving the Unforgivable