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The money’s nuts tho—hustlers makin’ bank, tax-free sometimes. Shady, sure, but damn, I’m jealous. Heard this one chick, she’d hum Sinatra while rubbin’—clients loved it, called her “The Crooner.” Weird flex, but okay. Me? I’d blast death metal, scare ‘em off, get fired day one. "Let me in!"—that’s me beggin’ for my job back after screwin’ it up.

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We start cruisin’ down Rue de la Liberté. I’m tryin’ to keep it light. “So, Marie, ever seen a car do a backflip?” She laughs, but I can tell she’s not really in the mood for jokes. I mean, who would be? But then, outta nowhere, this pigeon decides to play chicken with us. I swear, it was like a scene from a movie. Marie slams the brakes, and I’m like, “Chill! It’s just a bird!” But she’s freakin’ out. “What if I hit it?”

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