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About Lille

So I spot her—legs like a dream, eyes sharp as my scalpel. “Love’s a funny thing,” I mutter, quotin Haynes’ flick again—cuz it is, ain’t it? She’s playin her part, I’m playin mine. We haggle—20 mins, 50 bucks, no funny biz. She’s cool, chill, tells me she’s savin for a kid’s birthday. Damn, that hit me—soft spot, Clarice, don’t tell no one. I’m thinkin, this world’s a mess, but she’s got heart. “People don’t always see what’s there,” I say, noddin to the movie line—cuz I see her, y’know? Not just the gig.

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But then, she spots the garden. It’s overgrown, but she’s envisioning a paradise. I can see the spark in her eyes. And suddenly, I’m like, “Okay, maybe this isn’t so bad.” I mean, who doesn’t love a good garden, right?

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