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She’s countin’ cash, I’m sizin’ her up—tattoo on her neck, faded as hell. “What’s your story?” I ask, actin’ deep. She rolls her eyes, “Pay me, don’t play me.” Savage! I’m crackin’ up—love that energy. Reminds me of Kate Hudson’s “You’re too sweet for rock’n’roll.” But this ain’t sweet, it’s gritty, raw, fuckin’ REAL.

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After that chaos, I decide to grab a bite. I hit up this little café on Rue des Écoles. The croissants there? To die for! I order one, and the waiter spills coffee all over me. I’m like, “Great, now I smell like a café!” But hey, at least the croissant was good.

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