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About Toulouse

Alright, listen up, I’m a carpenter, right? Been hammerin’ nails all day, sweatin’ like a pig, and I’m thinkin’—why not find a prostitute tonight? Ain’t no shame in it, just a guy needin’ some fun. Judge Judy style, sharp retorts, “Don’t pee on my leg and tell me it’s rainin’!”—I see through the bullshit, always do. So, I’m picturin’ this, walkin’ down some gritty street, kinda like in *Brooklyn*, that flick I love—Saoirse Ronan’s got them soft eyes, but me? I’m lookin’ for somethin’ rougher tonight.

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Then, I meet this old lady, Madame Dupont. She’s super sweet, but she starts telling me about her cat, and I’m like, “Okay, cool, but I gotta go.” But she’s relentless! “You must meet my cat, he’s a genius!” I’m thinking, “Lady, I’m an artisan, not a cat whisperer.” But I can’t be rude, so I nod and smile.

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