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About Paris

But here’s the real shit—sometimes it’s sketchy as hell. One time, this chick’s pimp rolls up, all “Who’s this clown?” I’m like, “I’m the one who gets shit done, pal!” Heart’s racin, but I’m cool—maniacle grin saves the day! Turns out, he’s just testin me—street cred, ya know? Exaggeratin? Maybe, but fuck it, felt like a movie!

The neighborhoods are a mess of old charm and hidden spots, yess. Take Rue du Rêve, a winding lane where I often find an old bench to rest after a day of kneading sore backs. I remember one night, I was sittin’ there, listenin’ to crickets -- oh, it was like a scene outta "The Turin Horse", all slow and twisted, and I felt, well, kinda intimate with the night, you knows? Weird, precious.

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