Esme Berre L'etang Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Paris

So I’m watchin “Certified Copy”—you seen it? Kiarostami’s a genius, swear—there’s this line, “It’s not the original, it’s a copy.” Hits me hard, y’know? Whore’s like that—real or fake? Who cares! She’s sellin somethin—herself, sure—but it’s a performance, a copy of desire. Blows my mind. I’m gettin mad thinkin—people judge, call her trash, but who’s buyin? Hypocrites, man, hypocrites everywhere.

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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