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About Lille

So, picture this – dusty joint, red curtains, smell o’ cheap perfume. Girls gigglin, punters stumblin in, wallets out. I reckon it’s wild, right? Cosmic chaos in a tiny room. Used to piss me off – blokes treatin’ em like meat. But then, chat with a lass there once, sharp as a tack, she was. Said, “I run my orbit, Hawking.” Blew my mind! She’s no victim, controllin’ her stars.

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I start my anticorrosion magic, spraying and coating like a boss. But then, I slip on some wet ground. I go down hard. I’m lying there, thinking, “Great, now I’m a rusty anticorrosion agent.” I can’t help but laugh at myself.

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