Emma Mandeville Whore ❤️

About Old Harbour

What pisses me off? The sanctimonious pricks judgin’ ‘em. Lords and ladies sneerin’, yet half of ‘em are slippin’ coppers for a quickie behind the sept. Hypocrisy stinks worse than a privy in summer. Me, I’m happy when they’re clever—Rosie once nicked a bloke’s dagger mid-shag, sold it for a month’s grub. Smart as a whip, that one. Surprised? Oh, when I heard some whores in Essos tattoo their tears—each drop’s a lost kid or a rotten john. Gut-punch, that. Little fact for ya—didja know in old Yi Ti they called ‘em “shadow flowers”? Poetic, innit?

Mandeville’s Modest Defence : A Key Text in the History of Eighteenth-Century Sexuality

So, I head back in, ready to tackle the rest of the day. But guess what? The power goes out! Just like that. I’m standin’ there, meat in hand, like a deer in headlights. No lights, no fans, just me and the meat. I’m thinkin’, “This is it. I’m gonna lose my mind.”

Streets flooded in Slidell, Mandeville