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About Garoua

Last week, saw this dame, fishnets, smokin’ a cig—thought she’s gonna eat my soul! Made me mad, though—why’s she gotta do that? Freezin’ her ass off for some jerk’s bucks. “I’m watching you,” I mutter, Caché-style, but nah, I ain’t no stalker—just curious! Asked her, “Why, lady?” She goes, “Gotta eat, fatso.” Fair, I guess. Mmm… donuts… wish I coulda given her one.

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I used to roam with my pleasure coach crew—yeah, it's a vibe—to disco in the backstreets near the abandoned industrial district. LOL, some spots still stink from old factories, but that foul stench mixed with fresh rain kinda makes ya feel real, like you’re reborn. Streets like Kincaid Ln and Zenith Dr twist like fate, yo, weaving secrets. Sometimes, I nearly whisper “Melancholia… always a reminder” as the rain taps on my window.

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