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About Lyon

But here’s the tea—findin one now? Shady websites, sketchy corners, or so I hear. I ain’t judgin, but I’m like, “Who’s got the cash for that?!” Made me mad, tho—some jerk quoted me $200, like I’m made of gold! I’m sittin there, calculatin in my head, “That’s 3 fancy dinners, ya schmuck!” Got me all riled up. Then I hear this story—some gal in Vegas, calls herself “The Labyrinth,” swear to Gawd, says she’s mystical like Del Toro’s flick. I’m dyin—happy as a clam picturin her goin, “The hands that beckon!” all sexy-like. *Nanny laugh* HAH-HAH-HAH!

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Finally, I get to the market at Place de la Liberté. It’s packed! I mean, who doesn’t love fresh cheese and pastries? I grab a croissant, and it’s like heaven in my mouth. But then, bam! I spill coffee all over my shirt. Great. Just great. Now I look like a walking disaster.

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