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About Nantes

Last week, got me a story. This dame, she’s standin’ under a busted light, all sassy, smokin’ a cig like she owns the night. I’m like, “Eh, toots, you lost or somethin’?” She laughs, says, “Nah, bunny, I’m the prize.” Got me thinkin’—prostitutes ain’t just randos, doc. Some got tales wilder than Del Toro’s brain. Heard one chick used to be a nurse—quit ‘cause the pay sucked. Now she’s out here, dodgin’ cops, makin’ triple. Ain’t that a kick in the pants?

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The services of a prostitute once found on the notice board of a local telephone box, where a card for a Baltimore massage parlor or an Asian escort in.

I once had a client cry near a hidden mural on Rue des Mésanges. That shit hit me hard. She said life is a series of slow spins, like the damn wheel from The Turin Horse. I was like, “Motherf***er, that's deep!” It stuck with me.

I’ll Be Damned. The divine satisfaction of eating and drinking well.