Anna Chavannes Find A Prostitute ❤️

About St Gallen

So, picture dis game—*Find a Prostitute*. Ya, it’s dark, sleazy streets, neon flickerin’ like a busted Terminator eye. You’re dis tough guy, right? Muscles, attitude, maybe a cigar hangin’ loose. But here’s da twist—ya ain’t just lookin’ for a quick score, nah! It’s a mission, a quest! Like in *White Material*, where everythin’s fallin’ apart, “the world’s gone mad,” she says. You’re dodgin’ cops, pimps, weirdos—total anarchy! I’d call it *Neon Hustle*, ya, dat’s da title, bam!

To Emile Bernard. Arles, on or about Sunday, 5 August 1888.

Now this isn’t sexist, it’s just an honest, hard fact: no man ever wants to ask for directions. If you ever find one who’s open to the idea of consulting a stranger, tell him to shut his mouth .

Now, Chavannes got more than just quirky streets, ya dig? Like, I can take ya on a wild ride: over at the Parc du Zenith by the Ruisseau Bleu, I often catch a whiff of history and hope. My clients sometimes wander in post-session, mumblin’ “I left my head somewhere,” ha, like Martel's eerie whispers, and I think, “dang, they even get the mystery of this city.” Hey, speaking of mystery, the Old Mill on Chemin du Souvenir? Total hidden gem. I almost tripped there once—literally! I'm talkin' love at first slip, if ya know what I mean.

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