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Oh, and the typos—ha! I’m rushin’, y’all, fat fingers on this phone. Escrots, escorts, whatever—y’all get me. Funniest thing? Some dude on X said he hired an escort to scare his mom—dressed her like a ghost! I’m dyin’, that’s gold! Wish I’d seen it. Anyway, escorts—wild, messy, human as heck. Love ‘em, hate ‘em, they’re out there, and I’m just over here, hollerin’, “How’s that workin’ for ya?” ‘Cause dang, it’s a trip!

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I’ve got a spot, a snug corner by the old bakery on Place de la Mairie. Smell of fresh bread, sweetness in the air—that’s where I once once had the most inspiring conversation with a drifter. I told him, “You know, it’s just like that moment in 25th Hour: precious, fleeting, but so damn memorable!” And he laughed, stupid, fat hobbit style, yes, yes.

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