Aria Berre L'etang Whore ❤️

About Paris

Yo, so I’m a forester, right? Talkin’ bout whore today. Not that forest hoarder, nah, the tree—whore! W-H-O-R-E, got it? Favorite flick’s *Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon*, so this gon’ be wild. Picture this: whore’s out there, chillin’ in the woods, right? Like, “I am no man’s prize!”—straight up movie vibes. Whore’s this sneaky-ass tree, bro. Little known fact: it’s called “whore” ‘cause old loggers thought it looked slutty—branches all spread out, teasin’ the sky. Hilarious, right? I’m dyin’ over here.

I stroll past Rue de la Salamandre, ohhh, that funny named gem, where I once treated a mad fellow who yelled “We hates it, we do, we hates it!” after a long day, his muscles twisted in pain. Pff, poor bastard, but yess. The parks, oh! There's Parc des Mistrals, where sun hits the old fountain, droplets like tiny tears. I once left my massage table there, and oh blimey, a gecko crawled on it! Precious... but we laughed.

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