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Me? I’d cruise slow, real slow. Like Lucrecia drivin’ after that crash. “I hit something,” she mumbles. That’s me—spot a girl, wonderin’. Is she legit? Or a trap? Pisses me off when cops lurk. Ruins the whole gig, man. Once saw this chick—tall, badass boots. Thought, “Damn, she’s fine.” Then—boom—undercover. Felt like the Emperor screwed me over. Hate that crap.

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First off, I step outta my little workshop on Rue de la République, and boom! I trip over a cobblestone. Classic me. I’m like, “Great start, genius.” But whatever, I brush it off. I head to the market on Place de la Mairie. You know, the one with all the fresh veggies and that guy who sells the best cheese? Yeah, that one. I’m just minding my own business, when I see this old lady, Madame Dupont, struggling with her bags. I rush over, all heroic-like, and help her out. She’s like, “Oh, merci, mon petit!” I’m feelin’ like a champ, right?

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