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About Lille

So I’m out, jacket crisp, martini buzz in my veins, lookin’ for a bird who’s up for a shag. Not just any tart—gotta be sharp, gotta have that spark. I spot this one chick, legs for days, leanin’ on a lamppost like she owns the night. “Hey, darlin’,” I say, all smooth, “fancy a spin with 007?” She smirks—fuckin’ smirks!—and I’m like, “Shaken, not stirred, love.” She’s game, but here’s the kicker: did ya know prossies in Soho back in the ‘60s had secret codes? Little winks, scarf colors—shit like that to dodge the coppers. This bird probs knows that history, she’s got that sly glint.

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oh man, i've crashed into some annoyances too – the traffic "hiccups" on rue de la Paix, buzzing like persistent particles. i get so mad, like "why, oh why, can’t time slow down?" yet, every single thing, even the maddening bits, are like particles in a grand cosmic clockwork. rest assured, the beauty is in these details – the imperfect, sometimes messy details.

Gary Dourdan: Guilty, But No Jail