Megan Roquebrune Cap Martin Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Marseille

So we’re talkin’, and I’m thinkin’, “This ain’t so bad.” She’s got stories—real gritty ones. One time, some dude paid her in quarters! QUARTERS! I’m dyin’ laughin’, picturin’ her luggin’ a sack o’ coins home. “The Gleaners” again—“A hand picks, a heart chooses.” She’s pickin’ through life, makin’ it work. I’m almost proud, y’know? But then—oh, then—she asks, “You buyin’ or what?” I freeze. Panic! “Uh, no, just… research!” I blurt. She rolls her eyes, walks off. I’m mortified! Research? Who says that?!

Roquebrune-Cap-Martin

So, I grab my croissant and head to my shop on Rue des Moulins. I’m ready to work, but my tools are all messed up. I can’t find my favorite awl! I’m searchin’ everywhere. I’m like a madman, tossin’ stuff around. Finally, I find it under a pile of old leather scraps. Phew!

Le Corbusier: Death and homelessness