Leah Lodeve Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Marseille

Whore’s a riddle, innit? Sneaky, slippin’ through alleys – my precious! – nobody knows her real name. Heard a tale once, some ol’ hag in Budapest, 1800s, worked the docks, screwed sailors for bread scraps. Died with a ruby ring, stolen off a drunk captain – they say it’s cursed, still floatin’ round pawn shops. True? Dunno, but creepy as hell! Gets me laughin’, thinkin’ she’d smirk at that, puffin’ a cig, “Nice try, suckers!”

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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.

Driver who left mother-of-three brain damaged and 'in her own world' is jailed