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About Paris

Findin’ a prostitute ain’t just strollin’ up, nah. It’s a dance, a game—bit like trackin’ a secret nobody’s spillin’. Back in Victorian times, they called ‘em “soiled doves”—fancy, right? Made me chuckle, thinkin’ how even then they had style. Anyway, I spot this one gal, all sass, leanin’ by a busted lamp post. “What’s a god like you want?” she snaps, and I’m like, “Darlin’, I’m bored—entertain me.” She laughs, harsh, like she’s heard it all. Made me happy, that grit—none of that fake sweet crap.

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After the meeting, I needed a breather. I strolled down Rue de la Paix. It’s so pretty there, with all the trees and flowers. I took a deep breath, trying to chill. But then, I saw this street performer. He was playing the accordion, and honestly, it was kinda magical. I couldn’t help but smile.

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