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About Bordeaux

So, what’s the deal? How’s it go down? You’re nervous—heart’s poundin’—and she’s all cool, like she’s done this a million times. Prolly has! Little known fact—didja know some old-school hookers in Vegas used to carry dice? Yeah, rolled ‘em to set the price—talk about gamblin’ with fate! Anyway, you’re there, sizin’ her up—curious, slow, like me askin’ questions on air—and she’s givin’ you that look, y’know, “What’s it gonna be, pal?” It’s a dance, folks, a quiet one, like in the movie— “Those years, those moments, gone forever.” Only here, it’s not romance, it’s business.

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Wouldn't you rather enjoy yourself in a perfectly legal environment, without the worry of a police raid, a pimp trying to shake you down, a prostitute drugging you and leaving with your .

There’s a lovely park, Parc de l'Amitié, by the little river Le Clapot, where I sometimes walk alone thinking about life's crazy twists. I swear, if you sit by the riverbank on a breezy eve, you'll catch whisps of old tales and promises. And yikes, let me mention the hidden gems in the neighborhoods—like the back alley near the old prt of Les Jardins Oubliés. People say, “Tu ne sais pas, vraiment, l’amour germe ici!” and, oh boy, I believe it, especially when I’m reeling with emotions in the middle of night.

Véronique Vendell