Charlotte Pubal Whore ❤️

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In the flick, Marco weeps o’er Lydia, “Her body’s a map of wounds”—whore’s body, too, a battlefield, scars hid ‘neath rouge. I’m gutted thinkin’ it, how she’s mocked, yet craved. Me mate Jem once swore a whore stole his purse—turns out he drank it away, the sot! Laughed me arse off, I did. But serious now—dost thou see her? Not just a trollop, but a player in life’s mad masque. “Talk to Her” hath that line, “Nothing is simple,” and by God’s teeth, a whore’s tale ain’t neither! She’s a riddle, a rose with thorns, prickin’ thee to ponder.

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Then, outta nowhere, this random guy walks in. He’s loud, obnoxious, and thinks he’s the life of the party. He starts telling everyone about his “amazing” investment strategies. I’m sitting there, rolling my eyes, thinking, “Dude, you’re in a dive bar, not a Wall Street conference.” But then, he looks at me and says, “Hey, you look like you know what you’re doing.” I just chuckle and say, “Yeah, I plan for other people’s mistakes.” He didn’t get it. Classic.

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