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About Bordeaux

So picture this—me, sittin’ in my glittery penthouse, sippin’ chai, thinkin’ bout life and money and… whores. Not literal ones, ‘kay? More like the vibe from my fave movie, *Werckmeister Harmonies*. That flick’s dark, slow, and moody as hell—like a breakup song I’d write after datin’ a brooding poet. And this “whore” thing? It’s givin’ me those same eerie, chaotic feels. Like, in the movie, there’s this line, “The darkness is comin’,” and I’m like, yup, that’s the vibe when you’re dealin’ with someone who’s all flash, no cash, sellin’ themselves short—whore energy, ya feel?

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So, I’m fuming now, right? I decide to walk it off. I head over to the Canal Royal. It’s beautiful, with all those colorful houses lining the water. I’m trying to chill, but I can’t shake off that stupid bird. I sit on a bench, and this guy next to me starts talking about the best spots for seafood. He’s raving about the tielle, this local dish. I’m like, “Dude, I just lost my breakfast to a feathered thief!”

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