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About Toulouse

So, I’m cruisin’ London—shaguar’s purrin’, shades on, feelin’ randy. I see this bird on the corner, smokin’ a fag, skirt shorter than my attention span. Reminds me of Mia’s mum in *Fish Tank*—all rough edges, “You’re a little shit,” she’d say. I roll up, flash a grin—groovy, baby!—and she’s like, “Wot you want, posh boy?” Made me laugh, her sass! I’m thinkin’, “This chick’s got more balls than Blofeld!”

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Upon the whore, this victim. Woman, who knows full well that everything is a lie,. Longing for nothing now,. Not even the end of life,. Who sees only a great.

Finally, I decide to head back home. I’m walking down Rue de la République again, and I see this old man sitting on a bench. He’s feeding the pigeons, and I’m like, “Dude, you’re living the dream.” I sit next to him, and we start chatting. He tells me stories about Tarascon, how it used to be a bustling trade town. I’m all ears.

France says it will track down and arrest those trying to 'destabilise' it with prison attacks