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About Bordeaux

Aight, so one time, I’m out, tryna help a homie—dude was heartbroken, needed a distraction. We hit this sketch spot, neon lights buzzin, air thick with desperation. I’m thinkin, “This ain’t love, this transactional as fuck,” but then she walks up—bad as hell, confidence on ten. I’m like, “Oh, she’s a problem!” Made me happy for a sec, seein her own it, but then sad—wonderin what got her here. “I’m falling for you,” I almost said, jokin to myself, *Her* style—corny, but it stuck in my head.

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Get to the market, and it’s packed. I mean, people everywhere, shouting, laughing, and the smell of fresh bread hits me like a wave. I grab a baguette, of course. Can’t be in France and not eat bread, right? But then, I see this street performer. He’s playing the accordion, and it’s like, wow. I stop, totally mesmerized.

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