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Hate the fakes, tho—dolled-up liars, stinks of weakness. Exaggeratin’ here, but one time, chick tried hagglin’—me! Nearly lost it, like, “Know who I am, bitch?” Didn’t, kept it cool—Putin style. Find a prostitute ain’t romance—it’s power, raw, messy. Like Malik slicin’ that dude—blood’s the lesson. You dig? That’s my take—short, sharp, real.

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Then, I decide to grab some food. I hit up this little bistro on Rue de la Liberté again. I order a burger, and it’s massive! Like, I’m talking a tower of meat and cheese. I take a bite, and it’s heaven. But then, I spill ketchup all over my shirt. Great. Just great.

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