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About Paris

So I’m out, prowlin’, eyes sharp—my precious!—and there’s this spot, yeah? Down by the docks, all grimy, smells like fish and regret. Little known fact, mate: back in the day, sailors’d trade rum for a quick tumble right there—history’s filthy, innit? Makes me chuckle, thinkin’ how I’m just another fool in the chain. Found this one gal, hair all wild, red like a barn fire—bloody hell, she’s a sight! “What’s yer price, love?” I says, all raspy, and she smirks, “More’n yer hammer’s worth, carpenter!” Cheeky! Got me laughin’, but I’m half mad too—don’t she know I’m a craftsman?

I also joke about the unpredictable weather. One moment sun, then a quick sprinkle—kinda like the moods I see at the spa. Even with those little annoyances, I defnitely love it. I mean, who wouldn't love a place where every raindrop feels like little whispers of joy?

Speculations Surrounding the Pope's Passing