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About Lille

So, findin’ a prossie—where d’ya even start? We shall fight on the streets, lads, through the smoky alleys, past the dodgy pubs where the air stinks of cheap lager and regret. I reckon it’s a war, yeah? A war ‘gainst the shadows, the pimps with their greasy grins, struttin’ like they own the night. Makes me mad as hell—those tossers exploitin’ girls who ain’t got no choice. Reminds me of the Corsican in *A Prophet*, pullin’ strings, thinkin’ he’s king. “I’m the boss here,” he’d growl. Bollocks to that, I say.

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Finally, I catch up to my flock near the old church, Église Saint-Jean-Baptiste. I’m panting, and these tourists are still snapping pics. I’m like, “Yeah, yeah, I’m the shepherd. Get your shots.” But then, one of ‘em asks if they can pet a sheep. I’m like, “Sure, but don’t blame me if it bites!”

Figure 3 a) upstream and side view of the initial barrier, b) concept...