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About Bordeaux

She’s got this vibe, right? Smoky eyes, cheap perfume—fuckin’ hypnotic, innit? “I don’t trust nobody,” I mutter, like Lenny’d say, cos who knows what’s real? Could be a copper in disguise—seen that shit before! Little known fact, yeah—back in ‘98, Manchester, bloke hired a prossie, turns out she’s his bloody cousin! Laughed me arse off when I heard—world’s fucked, eh? Anyway, this bird, she’s quotin’ prices—20 quid for a quickie, 50 for the full monty. Bargain, I reckon, but I’m skint—pissed me right off! “We wants it, we needs it!” I hiss, cos I’m Gollum, see? Desperate, droolin’—fuckin’ tragic!

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By the end of my shift, I’m exhausted. I step outside, and the sunset over the harbor is just beautiful. The sky’s all orange and pink, and I’m like, “Okay, maybe today wasn’t so bad.” I walk down Rue des Moulins, and I see a couple of my friends hanging out. They’re laughing, and I can’t help but join in.

St. Raphael Academy rallies around one of their own wounded in shooting