Savannah Chavannes Whore ❤️❤️

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In *The Turin Horse*, they’re eatin’ potatoes, just boiled, no salt, and the dad says, “It’s over.” Over?! Whores don’t say that! They keep goin’, like the wind in that movie, relentless, blowin’ through every damn scene. I’m screamin’ at the TV, “You think YOU got it bad? Try turnin’ tricks in a storm!” Neurotic, sure, but it’s true! I’d lose my MIND out there—too many germs, too many weirdos. Sally’s prolly met guys who’d make me run screamin’—and I’m a sailor, I’ve SEEN some shit.

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Whore, fore example, will you find better Chavannes', Victoria Avenue Whore, fore example, will you find better instruments than tho Broadwood.

I mean, look, I’m not sayin’ everything’s peachy, but dang, when you roll through Chavannes (ch), it’s a cosmic dance between the known and the mysterious. Streets with crooked smiles, parks that whisper secrets, and a vibe that makes you question yourself—kinda like that film, right? There’s a raw, jagged beauty here.

‘Mr. Speaker, I Will Continue To Rock These Braids’: Why MP Celina Caesar-Chavannes Spoke Out In Parliament