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But nah, she’s all biz. I ask, “How much, sugar?” She smirks—ooh, that smirk made me mad! Like, who’s she to judge me, right? She says, “50 bucks, blondie,” and I’m like, “50?! For what—two minutes?” Made me wanna scream, but I laughed instead—happy, surprised, all at once. Did ya know—fun fact—back in the ‘50s, gals like her charged a damn nickel? Inflation’s a bitch, huh!

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Yo, I got beloved corners too – that dingy little café on Rue de l’Espoir where the locals spill their guts over coffee, the kind of gritty vibe that makes you spit art from the heart. Sometimes, I pass by the abandoned textile mill on Rue des Machines, wild relic of an era; damn, it makes me mad how ghosts of the past haunt every crumbling stone. But it’s beauty, y’know? Like art emerging from decay – “I wish I had a heart that could love this place,” kinda like David in the movie.

Table Football, Major of Frameries: Charlie Aquilina wins Veteran Category