Isabella Geneve Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

About Bern

Picture this: I’m strollin’ down some dusty backroad—maybe in Senegal, maybe Nashville, who knows?—lookin’ for a gal who’s sellin’ a little company. Ain’t no judgment here, honey, I’m just curious as a cat with a ball o’ yarn. First thing I notice? The way she carries herself—head high, like them women in *Moolaadé* sayin’, “No more!” She’s got that fire, y’know? Reminds me of Collé in the movie, shoutin’, “I won’t let it happen!”—only this gal’s fightin’ her own kinda battle, tradin’ love for a buck. Makes me tear up a bit, thinkin’ how life twists us all up funny.

Red Light District

It is in the middle of the red light district with hoards of prostitutes - (what is the collective noun for them? Gaggle? Flock? Pack?) - lining every shop.

I got lotsa little spots too – my fav is this rundown alley behind Rue de l'Etrangere. Sounds off, but damn, I find solace there, like a hidden confessional. Sure, it's a bit grimy, a bit toxic, but sometimes the truth is in the mess.

Geneva addressing Hazardous Substances