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About Paris

So, last week, I’m prowlin’—growling, “You merely adopted the dark.”—and I spot this bird, all fishnets and attitude. Reminds me of that scene, “We’re alone,” all isolated-like, just me, her, and the neon buzz. I’m thinkin’, “Mate, she’s either a jackpot or a fuckin’ setup.” Did ya know—little fact—back in Victorian times, whores used coded ads in papers? “French lessons,” my arse—sneaky bastards. Anyway, I’m chattin’ her up, heart poundin’—fuckin’ thrilled, yeah? But then—bam—some geezer rolls up, all aggro, demandin’ cash. Pissed me right off! I’m like, “Oi, cunt, I ain’t your ATM!”

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Then, I head over to the Parc de la Mairie. It’s a nice spot, chill vibes. I sit on a bench, trying to gather my thoughts. But then, this kid runs by with a soccer ball and kicks it right at me! I barely dodge it. I’m like, “Dude, watch where you’re kicking that thing!” The kid just laughs and runs off. Kids these days, man.

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