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About Montpellier

Alright, so I’m the prison warden, right? Tina Fey style, snarky as hell, “I can see Russia from my house!” vibes. Lemme tell ya bout findin a prostitute—wild stuff, ok? Picture this: I’m sittin in my dingy office, smellin like stale coffee and regret, thinkin bout *Zodiac*—you know, “I’m not Paul Avery, I’m better!”—and I’m like, why not chase a lil chaos myself? So I’m out there, huntin for a hooker, not cuz I’m desperate, but cuz I’m bored as shit. Prison life’s dull, y’all—same gray walls, same whiny inmates. Needed a thrill, somethin to make me feel alive, ya feel me?

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Suddenly, I heard this loud commotion. Turns out, a bunch of kids were playing soccer. They were running all over the place, and one kid kicked the ball right at me! I ducked, and it hit a tree instead. Everyone laughed, and I was like, “Phew, dodged a bullet there!” But then, I thought, “What if I had gotten hit? Would I have become a local legend?”

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