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About Lyon

Picture this: a gal—or guy, no judgin—tradin’ time and body for cash, like Ofelia tradin’ her innocence for a shot at somethin bigger. “The moon will be full,” they say in the flick, promisin’ magic, but escortin? It’s more like a full wallet than fairy tales. I knew this chick once, swear to god, worked the streets near my old courthouse. Called herself “Vixen”—real name probly somethin dull like Karen. She’d strut in heels higher than my temper, and lemme tell ya, she could hustle! Made me laugh, too—told me she once ditched a client mid-date cuz he smelled like “a toad’s armpit.” Hah! That’s the spirit—don’t take no crap!

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After that chaos, I decide to take a breather. I head to the cafeteria, and guess what? They’re serving ratatouille. I mean, come on! I’m in Valence, not some fancy restaurant! But I gotta admit, it’s not half bad. I sit down, and this old guy, Jean, starts chatting me up. He’s like, “You know, back in my day…” and I’m thinking, “Oh boy, here we go.” But he’s actually got some good stories about Valence. Like how the city used to be a major trade hub. Who knew?

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