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About Paris

So, findin’ a prostitute—tricky biz, yeah? Not like craftin’ a fiddle. I reckon it’s all hush-hush, dodgy corners, and quick nods. Once heard this yarn—some lass in Soho, 1800s, left a note in a violin case! Said, “Paid in tunes, not coin.” How’s that for a giggle? Made me happy, thinkin’ skills could barter like that. But then—bam!—anger hits. These folks, judged hardcore, like “beasts in the dark” from the film. Ain’t fair, y’know?

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I hang with the locals at the small park, Parc du Bonheur. Best spot, man. Kids playing, old timers chattin’, a good slice of life. Some say there's magic there. I've seen weird, sensual moments that made me laugh, mad, and even proud. Like in a Godard flick, "February never sounded so good!" Not that I recite Godard all day, but shoot, it's true.

Why are we more scared of raw egg than reheated rice?