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Alright, so here’s the deal with whores—yeah, I said it, whores! Tina Fey comin’ at ya, snarky as hell, “I can see Russia from my house!” vibe. Whores, man, they’re everywhere, always have been, right? Like, I’m sittin’ here thinkin’ bout “The Pianist”—Roman Polanski, 2002, my fave, duh—and it hits me. Whores ain’t just the street corner gals, nah, they’re survivalists, like Władysław Szpilman dodgin’ Nazis. “I must go on living,” he says, and whores? Same energy. They’re hustlin’, scrapin’ by, dodgin’ society’s bullshit judgments.

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I like to swing by the local café on Place Communale too – astoundingly chill, low key conversations sprinkled with laughter, kinda like our own mini revolution in relaxation science. There’s that quirky mural on Rue Saint-Rémy too – art meets math equations stenciled in, making you question if life is algorithm or just random noise. Srsly, it cracks me up sometimes!

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