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About Paris

Me, I’m swoopin’ in, parachute flarin’, imaginin’ this scene. Smoke’s thick, I’m coughin’, but I see it—a rickety ol’ house, red curtains, girls laughin’, some cryin’. One time, I heard this story, true tea—1880s, this madam named Diamond Jessie, she hid runaway slaves in her brothel. Underground railroad pitstop, y’all! Ain’t that wild? Surprised me so hard I nearly fell outta my plane. “That’s the breaks,” like Anton says in the movie—life’s unpredictable, even in a whorehouse.

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But then, I get to the corner of Rue de la Liberté, and I see this guy with a guitar. He’s playin’ some sick tunes, and I’m vibin’. I toss him a couple of coins, and he gives me a nod. It’s those little moments, ya know?

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