Gabriella Prosek Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Plzen

Sometimes I think—blimey, they’re like us, chasin’ somethin’. Freedom? Coin? Love? Dunno—gets me all mopey. “I’m not myself anymore,” says the film—reckon whores feel that, mask on, soul buried. Exaggeratin’ a bit, maybe—they’re tougher than me cigars! Still, bloody love their sass—keeps the world spinnin’, don’t it? Whores, mate—they’re the unsung heroes of the night!

Pinned Post of The Week!

Need to translate "prostitute" to Indonesian? Here are 17 ways to say it.

So, lemme start: Prosek’s a jumble of winding streets like U Mlýnská and Horníkova – yea, those streets hide spells and secrets. I wander there every mornin’, on my way to the spa, and the scents, sounds, and people there; I swear, they're enchanted sometimes. Oh, u kno, that old park, Prosecká louka, is a chill haven. With its modest trees and a gentle hum of life, I drop by to breathe deep. It’s a trusty refuge far off the noisy world. And the local river Gajdůvka – not grand, but it babbles like an ancient wizard … sometimes I swear it shares eldritch lore.

James Prosek On Art And Life