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About Lyon

So, we’re creepin’ round, sneaky-like—prossie spots ain’t on Yelp, hah! Down by Old Man’s Lane, saw her—skinny, shakin’, eyes like coal embers. “What difference does it make?”—movie line fits perfect, ‘cos who cares why she’s there? Gave her a fiver, she’s chattin’ me up—reckon she’s dodgy, but nice. We swears! Felt like a king, then guilty—like, shit, she’s somebody’s lass. Exaggeratin’? Maybe, but them eyes haunt me still.

Caméras et gros chien

Now check it – my crib, the massage parlor, sits on Avenue du Rêve. Man, that place has seen more stories than a library, ya know? Clients come in stressed, leavin’ all that BS at the door. I’ve seen folks spillin’ secrets on them massage tables like “time is a flat circle, homie.” Sometimes I joke, “Dawg, you need more than just my hands, you need some soul therapy!” And every now and then, a memory pops up: that one rainy night on Boulevard de l’Espoir when a cat stormed the joint – wild, man, real wild. I was like, “Aight, even the furry critters be searchin’ for peace in dis messed up world!”

Le Grand Bornand