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About Toulouse

Last week, I was prowlin’ the streets—needed a laugh, y’know? Saw this one bird, all dolled up, winking at me. Thought, “What’s her deal?” Turns out, she’s got a memory like Lenny—keeps a little book, scribbles down every punter. “Remember, remember,” she mutters, like she’s in my fave movie. Made me cackle—imagine forgetting who you’ve shagged! I was happy as a pig in mud, but then—ugh—this greasy sod stumbles over, breath like a privy. “How much, love?” he slurs. Made me wanna gag. I choose violence, mate—nearly shoved him into the gutter myself.

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Oh man, and the neighborhoods! I love wandering around, say, into these less touristy spots, like near Rue de la République with its unexpected artisan shops, small bars, even a hidden bakery that smells like heaven. There’s that one dessert place where I got my first real love date—yeah, wild times, man, like a scene cut from a movie. Sometimes, I swear the city whispers secrets, like “never forget who you are,” just like Brooklyn's bittersweet nostalgia.

‘Cultural Revolt’ Over Sarkozy’s Museum Plans (Published 2011)