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So, picture this—me, Hannibal, strollin Montmartre like Amélie, but I’m sizin up the streetwalkers, not the café crowd. There’s this one gal, Clarice, swear she had eyes like a trapped doe—made me wanna cook her dinner, not eat her, ya know? Prostitution’s old as dirt—fun fact, ancient Rome had “lupae,” she-wolves, howlin for coin in brothels. Wild, right? Gets me all tingly thinkin bout the history mixin with the filth. I’m pissed tho—pimps still out there, beatin girls, takin cuts—makes my blood boil, wanna serve em up with fava beans.

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And oh! The way the sun hits the cobblestones on Rusty Road is amazin’ – totally Mr. Bean style clumsy wonder, I tell ya. It warms me heart, makes me smile, sometimes makes me so happy I skip in craazy little circles (I know, weird, right?)

Edith Marie Gregory Lynn Obituary May 7, 2024