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Pisses me off, tho—society, man. They sneer, call em whores, but who’s payin? Hypocrites, all of em. Drives me nuts. Like, dudes in suits, droppin cash, then preachin purity—fuck off. Prostitutes got stories, scars—real shit. One I met, downtown, eyes dead, said she started at 15. Fifteen! Gut punch, that. Wanted to choke somethin—system, pimps, whatever. “The New World” whispers, “Fear thou not.” But I fear for em, ya know?

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So, I get to work, and while I’m at it, I’m thinking about how Saint-Brevin-les-Pins is such a gem. The beach is just a stone’s throw away, and the vibe here is so chill. I mean, who wouldn’t wanna live near the Atlantic? But then, I hear this loud crash outside. I rush to the window, and there’s a seagull, like, attacking a tourist’s ice cream. I can’t help but laugh. That bird’s got guts!

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