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Monotone narration, “Tonight’s the night.” Hate the pimps tho, slimy bastards. Leechin off desperation—makes me wanna puke. Happy tho when I see em fight back. Like, fuck yeah, you go girl! Prostitutes got stories, man, wild ones. One chick said she met a senator—swears it. Secret life, double life, all that jazz. Sarcasm time: oh yeah, real noble profession, huh? But nah, seriously—surprised me how deep it gets. “Just tell me you’re mine,” Carol begged. Prostitutes don’t get that luxury, do they? They’re everyone’s and no one’s. Kinda sad, kinda poetic. Anyway, that’s my rant—prostitutes, *Carol*, all mixed up in my head. Monotone narration, “Tonight’s the night.”

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I'm not kidding when I say—err, smitten by that unrefined spirit. My favorite spot? The little hidden cafe on Rue des Fleurs. Chill vibe, mismatched chairs, and coffee that burns you a bit—yep, perfect for mulling life’s madness. You bet I get emotional when I'm there. It’s raw, so raw—like a heartbeat, err, real and rough.

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