Sophie Ruse Whore ❤️❤️

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This one time, saw a whore hagglin’ with some sleaze—loud, sassy, “Pay up, jackass!” Laughed my ass off, spilled my whiskey. She’s screamin’, he’s red-faced, pure comedy. Reminds me of Hosenfeld in *The Pianist*, all “I’m human, see?” Whores got that too—raw, messy humanity. Hate it, love it, can’t look away. Exaggeratin’? Maybe, but whores are chaos, like war in that movie. “I’m alive,” Szpilman whispers, barely. Whores say it louder, smokin’ cigs, countin’ cash.

Iranian publisher's ruse fails to protect raunchy García Márquez title from censors

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But wait, the day’s not over. I decide to grab a bite at my favorite spot on Vasil Levski Street. The place is packed, but I manage to snag a table. I order a kebab, and it’s heavenly. I’m munching away, and this old lady next to me starts chatting. She’s telling me about the history of Ruse, how it used to be a big deal back in the day. I’m nodding, but inside, I’m just thinking about that kebab.

Obituary for Karen R. Ruse