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Sally was a riot—chain-smoked like a chimney. Once told me, “E, I’m a artist, see?” Art of the hustle, I guess! Wore these tacky heels, clacked louder than a horse. Little known fact—prossies like her? They got codes. Like, two knocks on a door meant cops. Saved her ass once, she said. Made me happy—girl had smarts!

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I’m always amazed: we shall fight despair and loneliness, but also find hope in sunsets at Place de l’Étoile. There’s a park, Parc du Lys, where I sit, think, and even shed tears of joy. Man, it’s like scenes from "Uncle Boonmee Who Can Recall His Past Lives" – eerie, beautiful, and full of deep memories that remind me of lost time... “the heat of moments long past.”

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