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About Bordeaux

Sometimes I’d cry for ‘em—alone, used up, like Mia’s mom in “Fish Tank.” “You’re all I got,” she’d slur—whores hear that too, I bet. Breaks my heart, darlin’—wanna hug ‘em, say, “You’re enough!” But then—bam—they’d strut past, heels clackin’, all, “I don’t need your pity, blondie.” Fair, fair—respect!

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But then, BAM! My phone buzzes. It’s my boss. “We need to talk about the flower beds.” Ugh, not this again. I just spent hours planting those tulips on Rue des Écoles. They better not be dead! I rush over, heart racing. Turns out, some punk kids thought it’d be funny to trample them. I’m fuming! Like, who does that? I mean, come on!

Maxime Bouet: ‘It's a disappointment’