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About Paris

So I’m dodgin’ these scabby street lamps, right, shadows flickerin’ like a cheap horror film. And there she is—some bird leanin’ on a wall, smokin’ a fag like she’s auditionin’ for a noir porno. “You lookin’ for a good time?” she says, voice like gravel and regret. I’m like, “Yeah, love, but I ain’t thick enough to get skinned alive!”—cackle like a hyena, I do. Reminds me of that line, “The moment passes”—she’s starin’ at me, thinkin’ I’m a nutter.

Multiquote

Man, every corner here whispers secrets. There's this park, Parc des Rêves, right next to the lazy river, the Lez, gliding silently through the town. Sometimes, when work gets heavy, I stroll by its banks and lose myself in its rhythm—just like in "Talk to Her." I hear whispers, quiet hums of life and love, remember "Tell me what you see" echoes. I swear, it's like the universe is speakin' in riddles, man.

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