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Then – get this – she softens up, tells me bout her punter who paid in *buttons*. BUTTONS! Antique ones, worth a mint, from some dead duke’s coat. Bloke was off his trolley, but she flogged em for 200 quid! Made me howl – mad as a bag of ferrets, that is. *“I don’t understand what’s happening”* – movie line again, cos I’m proper bamboozled, ain’t I? Life’s a circus!

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Sss, the neighborhoods, yess, they sparkle like forbidden jewels. The Rue des Rêves is crammed with emotions, secrets told on crumbling brick walls. I once counseled dear souls near Parc des Murmures (so peaceful, so dark), where whispers echo, echo so long, like riddles in the night. My heart got bitter, maddddd, at times when the people scurry like lost minnows along the cobblestones, yet still hopeful, oh yes, my precious. Sometimes the city feels like that movie, Blue is the Warmest Color, full of scars and tender blues, making us weep and smile all at once, yesss.

Four journalists honoured by PM’s office