Abigail Lodeve Prostitute ❤️

About Strasbourg

Me fave bit, though? When they’re proper cheeky. Met this one bird, yeah, swear she winked at me, said, “Fancy a shag, love?” I was like, “Nah, fam, I’s a bodyguard, not a punter!” Had me crackin’ up, bruv—bold as brass. But real talk, it’s grim too. Some of ’em, they’s forced, trafficked, fucked over. Makes me wanna punch summat, proper gutted. “The world is a mirror,” Carlos reckons—reflects all this shit back at us, dunnit?

Subscribe to our newsletter

Pain de Lodève is one such bread, a namesake from the French village of Lodève in the region of Occitaine. The unique story of the town's patron saint are woven into the vocabulary of the .

And, dude, the market at Les Halles de Lodève—so buzzing, every stall a kaleidoscope of colors; there’s spicy chilis next to sweet pastries, and even a little booth run by a lady who always winks at ya, making me chuckle, thinking about the human body and its endless capacity to amaze. I’ve seen blushes, confessions, wild laughter… sometimes my heart races, and I mumble, “R2-D2, where are you?” when I'm overwhelmed!

Véronique Vendell