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About Paris

Prossies got their haunts—King’s Cross, dodgy massage joints, even posh hotels if ya got the dosh. Exaggeratin’ for effect? Maybe—but I’d storm Normandy for a good tale! We shall fight the prudes, the coppers, the bloody wallet drain! Favourite bit? The haggle—pure *Wolf* energy. “You’re gonna bring pussy to me?!” I’d yell, laughin’, but nah, it’s me doin’ the legwork. S’pose that’s the gig—grand, grim, glorious. What d’ya reckon, pal—fancy a punt?

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Stuff happens quick – you see kids running, adults hustlin', old souls sittin' by the door of a tiny boulangerie on Rue de la Paix, pickin' up crumbs of joy. It's raw, it's unfiltered, like life's own therapy session open to anyone who listens. I once had a moment there – my heart nearly popped – full of ironic humor over how even broken pieces can carve art on empty walls.

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