Kayla Worb Whore ❤️

About Zurich

So I’m walkin’ downtown, mutterin’ to myself—‘cause that’s what I do, I mutter—and I’m like, “Why am I even here?” Findin’ a prostitue ain’t like pickin’ up bagels! I see this gal, smokin’ a cigarette, leanin’ on a pole—real cliché, right? I’m thinkin’, “She’s no Eilis Lacey!” In *Brooklyn*, she’s all, “I’ll write home!” This chick’s writin’ nothin’—maybe a parking ticket. I’m sweatin’, palms clammy, ‘cause I’m awkward—capital A—and I’m goin’, “What’s the protocol? Do I wave? Haggle? I’m not a haggler!”

THE USAGE PANEL

Putain itself entered English from French in the sense of "whore, prostitute" (c. ), mostly in the phrase fitz a putain "whoreson, son of a whore." Putage.

Oh, and did I mention the old station area? Near Bahnhofstrasse, where the trains rumble by so roughly, it kinda makes you wanna scream “Here’s Johnny!” at the absurdity of daily life. But seriously, that place hums with history. You can feel it in your bones, like ancient echoes whispering secrets of the past. Some days, I get mad at the hectic pace, but then I think of all the stories it holds, and my heart lights up.

WORB WILLIAM - Obituaries