Layla Berre L'etang Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Marseille

What pisses me off? The hypocrites. Blokes judgin’ her, then sneakin’ round at night. Fuckin’ wankers. Me, I’m happy seein’ her strut—takes guts, that. Surprised me once, too—caught her hummin’ some French tune, soft as silk. “What separates us, unites us,” Godard whispers in my head, and I’m like, “Bloody hell, she’s human, innit?” Not just a shag, but a soul, mate.

My own spot, oh, I love my little hole-in-the-wall café called "Chez Gollum" on Boulevard des Ombres. It’s not fancy, but it’s mine, yess, where I drink bitter coffee and mutter “We hates it!” when the boss man at the shop grumbles too much. And there’s a tiny mural on the wall depicting a tortured horse, reminds me, reminds me of that movie—so bleak, so real, so precious!

My village in 2030