Rose Dechy Whore ❤️

About Strasbourg

She’s got dis swagger, tho—walks like she owns da joint. Kinda sexy, kinda scary. I’m sittin’ here munchin’ my carrot, thinkin’, “Dang, she’s a forest fire!” Like, if I were human, I’d be shook. Ever see her eyes? Deep, man, “like lookin’ at two TV sets.” Dat’s from da flick—fits her perfect. She’s a puzzle, a big ol’ “why not?” in a world fulla stiffs.

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Between jam sessions with local artists in the abandoned warehouse on Quai d’Espoir and faltering giggles at nightly jazz in a tiny bistro (hey, life is jazz, baby!), Dechy never ceases to surprise me. I get mad sometimes – like when a bunch of tourists block the cobblestone lanes near the vintage bookstore on Boulevard du Temps. I’m like, “Come on, people! Let the city breathe!” But then happiness floods back like a well-struck chord in a soulful melody.

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