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About Mons

Me, I’d stroll in—growling, “The shadows betray you”—‘cause these places? They don’t lie. What you see’s what you get—tits, arse, cash on the table. No bullshit. Once saw a dude propose there—yeah, fuckin’ proposed! Girl laughed, took his money anyway. Savage! Made me happy, that—real shit, no filter.

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a hooker in a so-called upmarket escort agency and then branched out on her own to run her own brothel specialising in S&M. She tried to commit suicide on.

Damn, parks—uk, so green. Parc de Rêve, my fav spot. I chill on a bench, think life. Its benches, man, they whisper secrets. Caffè de Nuit, a quaint cafe on L'Allée des Miracles, is lit. I sat there, drank crazy espresso. Felt like the world, like in that movie—Brooklyn, you know? "I am your father," the café sign booms.