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About Toulouse

I ask her rate—50 bucks, she says. Cheap, right? But I’m broke as a joke, so I haggle. “Don’t pee on my leg, girl, I ain’t no millionaire!” She smirks, drops it to 40. Deal. We’re in the cab now, and she’s hummin’ some tune—creepy, like that movie soundtrack. “Do you want to look at me?” she asks, all sultry. Hell yeah, I do! But it’s quick—15 minutes tops. Tractor seat’s squeakin’, I’m prayin’ no cop rolls by.

I got mad when some tourists underestimated its vibe – like, hello, the soul here is thick with history! Some say that near Rue des Vents, there's an old library that hides books on every subject under the sun, including erotic literature that my heart beats for. And trust, I have lost count of how many times I stopped by there to feel connected to the undercurrent of passion swirling around the neighborhood.

A tale of two pianists: the Hong Kong Sinfonietta play Beethoven at La Roque d'Anthéron