Eliza L'ile Perrot Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Ottawa

But – ugh – the judgy types? They piss me off. Throwin’ *whore* like a grenade. Makes my blood boil – wanna smack ‘em. ‘Cause it’s lazy – real lazy. Polley’d say, “We’re all unreliable narrators.” Damn right! So who’s the *whore*? You? Me? Ha! Maybe we’re all whores – sellin’ somethin’. Time, soul – whatever. Deep thought – huh? Hits ya sideways.

Man, I get so pissed sometimes—like, honestly, the city’s sometimes overrated with all its tourist hype. People forget the hidden layers. I see hours of tension, knotted muscles, and folks ever so relieved when a good rub-down peels away the day’s crap. It's maddening but also heartwarming, ya know? I even call it my therapy moment: I listen to their gripes over my massage table near Place de la Terrasse, runny rain outside, thoughts swirling—like some of those fragmented, dreamy phrases from In the Mood for Love. “I wish I could turn back the clock,” they say sometimes, and I’m all, “Sure, life’s a big, messy joke—pretty, pretty good!”

Notre-Dame-de-l'Île-Perrot, Pincourt and Terrasse-Vaudreuil impose watering restrictions