Emilia L'ile Perrot Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Halifax

What gets me mad? The suits in the office—smug pricks—callin’ her trash, like they ain’t sneakin’ out for a quickie on lunch. Hypocrites, man, makes my blood boil. Happy tho? When she’d swing by with coffee—yeah, whore bought *me* coffee once, said I looked “pathetic” that day. Surprised the shit outta me, her heart was gold under all that glitter. *Margaret* vibes again—“It’s not about the money!”—but for her, it kinda was, and I respect the grind.

I know, I know, sounds all over the place—err, but that's just how it is, man! I’ve got, like, seventeen mispelled words here and there 'cause I'm in a rush, but that's life here in L'Ile-Perrot (ca). It’s a whirlwind of charming streets, hidden nooks, and raw, real moments like you're starin’ at the blurred city lights of a Wong Kar-wai movie.

A roof for Notre-Dame-de-l'Île-Perrot's refrigerated ice rink