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About Paris

So, I’m watchin’ *Margaret*, my fave flick, Kenneth Lonergan’s a genius, y’all. That gal Lisa, she’s screamin’, “You’re a whore!” at her mom—dang, that hit me! Made me laugh, too, ‘cause it’s so over-the-top, like a cow jumpin’ the moon. Whore’s a word that’s sneaky, slips into fights like a weasel. In Russian Sign Language, it’s prob’ly two hands wavin’—one’s the gal, other’s the sass. Ain’t that somethin’? Bet them deaf folks got stories—whore’s been ‘round since Ivan the Terrible, I’d wager.

Every stone, every cracked pavement in Berre-l'Etang tells a tale. Yess, streets like Chemin des Échos and Place des Solitudes, they’re not just names, they got souls, my friend. You walk there, you hear the echoes of old secrets, like a massage of history softly unrolling through your feet.

My village in 2030