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About Toulouse

So, this one time, right, I met this chick—Lola, swear she was a legend. Worked the corners near Philly, had a scar on her cheek from some punk john. Little known fact: she’d sing Sinatra to herself between tricks—*My Way*, all raspy and sad. “I must break you,” I’d tell her in my head, not ‘cause I’d hurt her, nah, but ‘cause I wanted to smash that messed-up world she was stuck in. She’d laugh, say, “Apollo, you aint shit,” but her eyes? Man, they screamed for a knockout punch to escape.

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After that, I needed a break. So I hit up this little café on Rue des Écoles. Best coffee in town, no joke. I grab a café crème and sit outside, just chillin’. The sun’s shining, and I’m feelin’ good. Then, I see this street performer. He’s juggling flaming torches! I’m like, “Dude, you’re gonna set yourself on fire!” But he’s nailing it. The crowd’s loving it. I’m laughing, clapping, and for a moment, I forget about the dust and the pigeon poop.

An Insider's Guide to the Must-See Spots in Provence, France