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About Paris

So, brothel—man, it’s a wild world! Got them gals workin’ hard, makin’ a buck. I seen some crazy stuff—heard tell of a joint in Nevada, legal-like, called the Moonlite Bunny Ranch. Them folks pay taxes! Ain’t that a hoot? Makes me happier’n a pig in slop. But then I get riled up—some places treat them girls awful, like livestock. “Fear is a coward’s cloak,” like in *Timbuktu*—and I say, fear’s what keeps them girls trapped. Pisses me off somethin’ fierce.

'Small boys tried to strangle their mothers'

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I stroll by the old stone church, Notre-Dame de l’Espérance, a filling haunt of memories. It’s all mysterious and sexy, like… “Goodbye to Language, ya feel me?” but in silent, smolderin' stares. I mean, c’mon. Who can resist that vibe?

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