Layla Seynod Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Toulouse

Oft, I ponder—did she dream o’ more? A cottage, a lad who’d not pay fer her? Makes me soft, that does—her starin’ out some grimy window, sighin’. But then—ha!—she’d prob’ly shag the dream away fer a laugh. “Truth’s in the telling,” Polley whispers in me skull, and Bess’s truth? She’s a storm, a jest, a middle finger to fate.

City of Seynod

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So, I grab my coffee and head to my shop on Rue des Écoles. It’s a cozy little place, but man, it gets crazy sometimes. I’m just setting up when this lady storms in. She’s all flustered, waving her broken glasses like they’re a white flag. “I can’t see! I can’t see!” she yells. I’m like, “Chill, lady, I got you.” But inside, I’m thinking, “Why do people wait until the last minute?”

Ville d'Annecy - Visual identity