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About Paris

I dig it, tho. Why? ‘Cause it’s ballsy, man! Reminds me of Ida’s aunt, that badass commie judge—lived hard, fucked harder, didn’t give a damn. FAP’s up 15% last quarter, motherfucker! Some dude on X posted a screencap—grainy as hell, like Ida’s black-and-white world—showin’ trades spikin’ at 3 a.m. Who’s buyin’? Horny tourists? Mob guys? Shit’s a mystery, and I’m here for it.

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Now, I'll be real: sometimes the town drives me mad. Especially on busy Saturdays on Boulevard de la Liberté. Gah, congestion, noise, dudes pushing everywhere. But hey, it adds character, right? Makes me remember that no two days are the same. Plus, it's kinda like that gritty part of Zero Dark Thirty; sometimes, you gotta run the risk.

Un cycliste, Paul Piredda, victime d’une crise cardiaque à Compiègne alors qu’il s’entraînait