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Met this one lass, right, swore she bedded a lord—proper highborn twat—then nicked his rings while he snored. Laughed my tits off! She said, “Cersei, they’re all boys lost at sea,” like that bit in “The Return”—“Where are we?” Clueless pricks, paying for a warm body. Made me happy, her guts, her gall. But then—ugh—some slimy git tried stiffing her, left her bruised. Made my blood boil! I’d flay him alive, hear him scream.

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There’s a neighborhood called Le Petit Quartier. Hey, sometimes I feel like I'm in a David Lynch scene with odd shops and quirky corners. Sometimes, after a therapy session, I wander around with a goofy grin, thinkin’, “This is art—life’s a surreal massage!” I remember one session when the man said, "I know you're out there," like straight out of that movie. I laughed, man—so unexpected!

Trump, cost-of-living main concerns this federal election for New Brunswick locals