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About Montpellier

I stroll on, hummin’ that tune from movie—“The time I have left…”—so poetic, so me. Then, bam! This gal—tall, smoky eyes, legs for days—standin’ by a lamppost. I’m like, “Vow, she’s got it!” Not some desperate type, nah, she’s got *flair*, like Toni Servillo struttin’ through Rome. I go, “Hey, you workin’?” She smirks, “Depends, big guy.” Cheeky! I’m happy—finally, some sass! Hate them quiet ones, bores me to death.

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An honorably discharged soldier returns home to New Orleans, hoping to break away from his upbringing as a trained prostitute, but his brothel-madam mother has.

But then, I see a pigeon. This thing is bold! It struts right up to me, like it owns the place. I’m laughing, thinking, “Dude, you’re a pigeon!” It pecks at my shoe, and I’m like, “Back off, buddy!”

Discriminant validity using HTMT and VIF