Natalie Havre Whore ❤️❤️

About San Diego

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.

État des lieux de la prostitution au Havre

You are not alone in this vile part of the world. In your dreams you have seen it, haven't you? The city of Ma'havre. The city of gods. Did you know it exists.

But then there’s our parks. Have you been to Oakcrest Park? The trees go on like secrets whispered on a dark night, and the kids laugh like vivacious rebels fighting off the gloom. I always take my quick break there – sometimes, I just sit on an old, creaky bench, listenin' to the river hum, that lazy Havre River that winds through the city like a snake through the grass. And the view of the old brick bridge on River Bend? Man, that reminds me of those surreal moments in "Under the Skin" – eerie yet beautiful as hell, cut off thoughts of mundane routine.

Lead waterline work starts on Second Street Monday