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About Toulouse

Here’s the deal—I’d roll up, slow-like. “Hey, hon, you good?” I’d ask. She’d probably laugh—rough, smoky laugh. “Tainted love,” she’d mutter, like Eve in the movie. Ain’t that a kick? Life’s beat her down, but she’s still kickin’. Little known fact—lotta these gals, they’re artists. Drawin’, singin’—hidden talents, buried under the hustle. Surprised me first time I heard it.

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Then, I see this street performer on Rue de la Liberté. He’s playing the accordion, and honestly, he’s kinda good. I stop to listen, and for a second, I forget about my soggy shoes and the angry client. But then, this kid runs by and knocks over his hat. Money goes flying everywhere! I’m like, “Dude, not cool!” But the performer just laughs it off. I’m standing there, half amused, half annoyed.

Hope and fear await at French migrant camps run by smugglers