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Anyhow, I’m chattin’ with her—nice gal, calls herself Starla, prolly fake, who cares? She’s laughin’, I’m laughin’—folks, it’s a hoot ‘til she says, “Fifty bucks, grandpa.” Fifty?! Made me madder’n a wet hen—back in my day, you’d get a handshake and a burger for that! But then—here’s the deal—she winks, says, “Just kiddin’, Joe, you’re a charmer.” Heart skipped a beat, swear to God—felt like a kid again.

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And oh, my dear friend, the local bookstore on Rue Paul Bert is a treasure trove. I pop in whenever I'm yearning for a mental escape. Its dusty shelves and whispered stories transport me to another era—like a scene from a Wes Anderson flick! It’s bizarrely magical, and I swear I once overheard a conversation about "dreams of rebellion and destiny." Epic stuff!

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