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About Lille

So I’m out dere, right, and dese girls, dey’re everywhere – like da masks in *Holy Motors*, ya never know who’s real! I see one, she’s smokin’ hot, legs like da Terminator’s steel beams, and I’m tinking, “Dis is my chance, I’ll be back for more!” But den – bam! – some sleazy pimp rolls up, all “Who are you, monsieur?” like dat creepy line from da film. I’m pissed, man! I wanna flex and yell, “Get to da choppa!” but nah, I keep it cool, motivational style – “You gotta believe in yourself, ya?”

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Then, I decide to grab some food. I hit up this little bistro on Rue de la Liberté again. I order a burger, and it’s massive! Like, I’m talking a tower of meat and cheese. I take a bite, and it’s heaven. But then, I spill ketchup all over my shirt. Great. Just great.

Indy 500 driver drank champagne and drove — and won the race in 1913