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About Toulouse

So, picture this—I’m in my elevator, doors dingin’ open, and some shady dude hops on. Smells like cheap cologne and regret. I’m like, “Anyone can cook, but can ya find a decent hooker?” Straight outta *Ratatouille*, baby. He gives me this look, probs thinks I’m nuts. But I’m wonderin’—is there an app for that now? Like Uber, but with fishnets? I bet there is. Prolly called “Hoober” or some crap. Made me laugh, thinkin’ bout it—technology’s wild, man.

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But then, I trip over a cobblestone. Classic me, right? I’m on the ground, laughing at myself. I look up, and there’s this old lady staring at me. She’s got this look like, “What’s wrong with you?” I just smile and wave.

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