Rose La Conception Whore ❤️

About Marseille

I’m vibin’ with her, picturing her sass. “This is my body,” she’d snap, echoing Gabita’s panic in the film. Makes me happy, her fire—girl’s a fighter, not a doormat. But, ugh, the world’s a dumpster fire, shaming her every move. Surprised me how deep that cuts, like a lyric I can’t shake. Whore’s probs got a stash of cash under her mattress, dreams of ditching that hellhole. Total badass, right?

Breadcrumb

Inspired by a post-structuralist conception of power and identity formation, I propose a women-centred lived-experience feminist approach in the hope of filling the gap between the bipolar .

First off, the streets. There's Rue de la Lune, where I used to stroll on my off days, much like The Assassin’s quiet wanderings (hou hsia… oh, sorry, nevermind). That street? It’s aglow with history, plots thickenin’ around every corner. Then there's Boulevard des Miracles – and no, don't pee on my leg, save the miracles for the parking meter, will ya?! Srsly, it's a mix of old brick and modern buzz.

Environmentalists are turning a rugged stretch of California coast into a lab for conservation