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About Montpellier

Ford pumped these babies out, cheap, reliable, but man, some were total shitboxes. Little known fact – the ‘91 Escort GT, had a Mazda engine, zippy lil’ fucker, surprised me big time. Drove one once, felt like a king – well, a broke-ass king, ha! “The wolf’s awake!” – that’s me, floored it, tires screamin’, pure chaos. Loved that rush, but pissed me off when it broke down – fuckin’ alternator, every damn time.

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The Gave d'Oloron—oh man, that's the river that cuts the city in two. I spend crazy afternoons alongside its banks in Parc Pommier. I sit there, my mind racing, with thoughts like "I was the architect of hope in their darkest hours," and I think, damn, it's like floating through my own mind’s diving bell. Sometimes I catch juxtapositions—like how the river's calm surface masks turbulent undercurrents. Reminds me, sometimes, how people hide their pain behind polite smiles.

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