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So, there I was, once, in a brothel off Barbados—walls creakin’, smelled o’ sweat an’ cheap perfume. Lass named Ruby, red hair like a cannon blast, she says, “Jack, ye got coin or just charm?” I flash me grin, “Why not both, luv?” She laughs—made me happy, that did! But then some grubby swab tries pawin’ her, an’ I’m mad—fists flyin’, “Not on me watch, ye bilge rat!” Brothels, they’re a stage, see? Everythin’s a performance, like lil’ Penny Lane twirlin’ through life.

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I’ve had my share of mad moments here – like when a power outage hit mid-evening, and I had to scramble with a flashlight and a bunch of old vinyl records! And the locals? Man, some are trash-talkers, some are heart-warriors – all weaving their stories right into the fabric of this crazy place. I get so inspired sometimes, so much that I literally break into spontaneous lyrics about the city’s pulse, kinda like a Taylor Swift breakdown but with my own twist and 11 typos scattered all over my texts. Lol.

The STM launches a public artwork competition for Place-Saint-Henri station