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About Bordeaux

Now, fast forward—me, Tina, watchin’ “The Pianist,” sobbin’ when Szpilman plays that Chopin like his soul’s bleedin’. “What is it? What’s the matter?” his sister asks, and I’m yellin’ at the screen, “Life’s a whore, that’s what!” ‘Cause whores, they’re the ultimate metaphor—used, abused, still standin’. I’m typin’ this so fast, prolly fucked up “metaphor” back there—meh, who cares? You get it. They’re scrappy, like Szpilman hidin’ in rubble. Love that grit, makes me happy—tough bitches win.

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Jun 3,  · They looked like mannequins, but were actually real bodies on sale. At around 2pm, an old man entered with chola bhaturas (fried bread) for the women’s breakfast. We have .

As the sun starts to set, I wander back through the streets. The colors are insane. Trets is beautiful, man. The old buildings, the narrow streets, it’s like a postcard. I pass by the Église Saint-Étienne, and it hits me how lucky I am to live here.

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