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About Paris

So, I’m cruisin’ the streets—motherfucker, it’s late, cold as hell. Neon lights flickerin’, girls standin’ on corners like ghosts. Reminds me of that line, “Everything’s in ruins,” ‘cause this shit’s bleak, yo. You gotta know the code—eye contact, quick nod, no fuckin’ around. I once saw this chick, right? Tiny, tough as nails, but her eyes? Dead. Like she’d hauled that cart herself for years. Made me fuckin’ mad—world’s a bastard for lettin’ that happen.

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Finally, I make it to the park, Parc de la Mairie. It’s kinda nice, you know? Trees everywhere, kids playing, and I’m just trying to breathe. I sit on a bench, and this old lady starts chatting me up. She’s telling me about her cat, Mr. Whiskers, and how he’s the king of the house. I’m like, “Cool, lady, but I gotta go.” But she’s relentless! I’m stuck there for like 20 minutes listening to cat stories. I mean, I love cats, but c’mon!

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