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About Strasbourg

So, I knew this guy—let’s call him Jimmy. Hired an escort once, swore she was “classy.” Turns out, she robbed him blind—took his watch, wallet, even his damn socks. Hilarious, right? Everybody lies, Jimmy. Shoulda known. Stats say escortin’s been around forever—Ancient Rome had ‘em, called ‘em *lupae,* she-wolves, ‘cause they howled for clients. Freaky, huh? Makes ya wonder who’s predator, who’s prey.

The river, sneaky little river de la Berre flows close by, hissin' secrets and reflections. I sometimes do my stretches there, on a shady bank near the old dock. Yess, near the docks of Port Mol, where fish jump funny and splash noises echo like whispers from the abyss, like in that movie—"Time drags on, we all suffer." Blah, blah, so deep and curse-like, hee hee.

In a small French town where Houston-based LyondellBasell is a fixture, residents complain of unending pollution