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Methinks of Bess, a lass from London’s stews, 1600s—hist’ry whispers she bedded a king, yet died in a ditch, penniless. Whore’s life, eh? Glitter one day, muck the next. Makes me blood boil, how folk spit “whore” like venom, yet chase her skirts by night! Hypocrites, all! I’d clout ‘em with me fist, but I’m too busy laughin’ at the farce. Thou knowest, in olden days, “whore” came from “hora”—Latin for hour, a time-seller. Ain’t that a hoot? She’s a clock tickin’ flesh, not a devil.

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You know… I sometimes catch myself thinkin’ in the vibes of that film: “Our hearts may be out of sync, but the city… oh, the city persists.” It’s madness and beauty. I get pissed sometimes ‘cause I see folks rushin’ through without noticing the beauty—a missed chance, ya know? And then—laugh!—I meditate in my spa, letting the scents and soft tunes of love caress my soul.

TotalEnergies, Vanheede Environment Group to scale up PCR-based circular polymers production