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About Paris

But ugh, I’m steamed—people get so judgy! Like in “Moolaadé,” when the village men were all, “Tradition’s law, obey!”—same with escort. Cops bustin’ folks, laws makin’ it risky. Why can’t we let people live? I’m yellin’ in my head, “Leave ‘em alone!” Got this pal, she escorted to pay for agronomy school—smart cookie, studied soil like me! Saved her butt, no shame. *Wipes fake tear.* That’s power, like Collé’s sanctuary, sayin’, “This is my space!”

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The town hes a mix, savvy? Its neighborhoods – like le Bosc, with pretty pastel facades and narrow streets – remind me of family bonds: enduring, puzzlin’ but sometimes irksome! Sometimes I get mad at how folks rush their lives like a ship in a squall. And then, sometimes, I’m so happy, like when we catch the sunset by the Étang de Canet. That sparkling water, glistening like treasure, makes ye ponder existence like, “Fear and loathing… or something fancy like that!”

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