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So I’m chattin her up, not buyin yet, just vibin. She’s smart—street smart, ya know? Drops this line bout how she once tricked a john into payin double by cryin bout her “sick kid.” No kid, just hustle. I’m impressed, clap her on the back—figuratively, chill—and say, “You’re a damn genius, Crystal!” She grins, and for a sec, I’m happy—real happy. Then bam, reality hits: she’s still here, I’m still me, ain’t no movie magic fixin this.

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After that, I head to the market on Place de la Mairie. I need some fresh bread. You can’t beat the baguettes here, man. But as I’m walking, I bump into old man Pierre. He’s ranting about the new roundabout on Avenue de la Libération. “It’s a disaster!” he says. I’m like, “Dude, it’s just a roundabout.” But he’s going on about how it’s ruining traffic. I can’t help but chuckle.

Maison de celle-qui-peint