Cora Habay La Vieille Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️

About Mons

She’s a survivor, this one—gotta be, in her game. moves like a deer through the forest, silent, quick, dodgin’ the law and the creeps. Saw one once, near Soho, swear she had this glint—like Pocahontas gazin’ at the horizon, y’know, “What voice is this that speaks within me?”—but nah, she’s countin’ cash in her head, not dreamin’ of new worlds. Made me chuckle, that did—tough as nails but soft in the quiet bits. Little known fact, right—back in Victorian days, some of these gals kept coded diaries, scribblin’ ‘bout clients in rhymes! Imagine that, poetry from the gutter—beats Shakespeare some nights.

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The river, Ruisselet du Bonheur, laughs with splashes. I once tripped there, oh gosh, painful but epic! The water whispers "C'est la vie" like in Amélie. I nearly melted!

Figure 21. Palaeogeographical map showing some Rhaetian localities...