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About Strasbourg

I’d start online—dark web shit, Telegram groups. Locals call ‘em “nochnye babochki”—night butterflies, poetic innit? But it pisses me off—half these sites are scams! Some twat took my mate’s cash, left him wankin’ in a hostel. Me? I’m smarter, I drink and I know things. I’d scope the X posts—blokes braggin’ ‘bout their “catch,” droppin’ hints. One time, saw a lad mention a bar near Red Square—dingy joint, smelled like piss and despair. Found a girl there, tho—eyes like the Anatolia hills, “quiet as a shadow.” Paid her double, ‘cause I’m a gent, ha!

So, I decide to take a stroll down Rue de la Mairie. It’s one of my fave streets. The vibe is just... I don’t know, cozy? There’s this little park, Parc de la Mairie, where I sometimes go to clear my head. But today, it’s a mud pit. I slip, almost faceplant, and I’m like, “Great, just what I needed.”

Legendary Frenchman Eric Barone Aims To Re-Write The Record Books