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About Strasbourg

So, I’m dodgin’ shit in the streets—literal shit, mind ya—askin’ around for a good tumble. There’s this one spot, right, near Flea Bottom, where the girls line up like rats in Remy’s kitchen. “Great cooking’s not for the faint-hearted,” and neither’s pickin’ a prossie! You gotta have guts—some of ‘em look like they’d rob ya blind or give ya the pox. Made me bloody angry, seein’ good coin wasted on bad lays.

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After that, I headed to the church. St. Étienne, my second home. I love that place. The stained glass, the smell of incense—it’s all so calming. But today? Ugh. The roof was leaking! Like, seriously? I’m trying to pray here, and there’s a drip-drip-drip right above the altar. I was ready to throw a fit. “Can’t a clergyman catch a break?” I muttered under my breath.

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