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But real talk, she was gentle too. Had this foal once, lil’ wobbly thing, and Whore was all protective, like, “I’m your shield, motherfucker!” Straight outta *Children of Men*—that “hope in the dark” shit. Made me happy as hell, seein’ her care like that. But then—fuck!—foal got sick, colic, twisted gut. Lost it overnight. Whore just stood there, starin’, broke my damn heart. “Where’s the miracle now, huh?” I yelled, kickin’ dirt like a madman. Hated that helplessness, still do.

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Then, oh my god, the Rue du Marché is pure gold. You'll catch me rambling there sometimes—totally off the cuff. The street smells, the chatter, the smell of fresh bread and, err, old history. It's a real mashup of passion and routine. Sometimes, I get pissed at how frigid some locals can be—they ain't got no warmth, like a winter's frost. But hey, I choose violence... metaphoric, of course.

Ettelbruck: Altercation in Grand Rue establishment ends in death threats to police