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About Hamilton

Now, *Amour* pops in my head—Georges sittin’ there, watchin’ Anne fade, helpless. “I can’t go on,” he says, suffocatin’ her with that pillow. Heavy stuff. And here I am, hagglin’ with this gal, thinkin’—is this what it comes to? Payin’ for a pulse? She’s tellin’ me her rate, and I’m pissed—$200 for an hour? Robbery! I’m like, “Sweetheart, I could buy a damn Timex for that!” She laughs, says, “Time’s tickin’, old man.” Cheeky, I like her already.

Ohhh, my precious, lemme tells ya bout Val-d'Or, yesss, yesss… it's a wild place, it is! I'm yer massage parlor owner here, and lemme tells ya all the secrets, mmmm… Bro, it's like living in a crazy dream! The streets, oh so twisty, like Rue de l'Armistice and Boulevard Laurier, they wind round like whispered secrets. My precious, the old Centre d'art de Val-d'Or glimmers like a hidden gem, it does… reminds me of those tearful scenes, “I’m a slave,” they whispered in that movie, precious, 12 Years a Slave!

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