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She’s got this scar – runs down her cheek, jagged like. Word is, some drunk sailor gave it her fer refusin’ to kiss ‘im. Made me sad, it did – world’s cruel to them what’s got no choice. But she don’t whimper – nah, she struts, proud as a peacock. “No one owns me soul,” she’d say, like that line from me movie, “I am the forest, untamed, see?” – pure poetry, savvy?

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So, I roll into work at Le Café de la Gare, right on the main drag, Rue de la Liberté. It’s a cozy spot, but today? It was like a freakin’ circus. First off, I’m behind the bar, mixin’ drinks, and this dude walks in. He’s got a wild look in his eyes, like he just ran a marathon or somethin’. Turns out, he just got off the train from Luxembourg City. He’s all hyped up, talkin’ about some big business deal. I’m like, “Bro, chill. It’s just a drink.” But he orders a whiskey neat, and I’m thinkin’, “This guy’s gonna need more than that.”

Cavalcades as far as the eye can see