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About Lyon

So, findin’ a hooker—where ya start? Streets, mate—grimy corners, neon buzzin’ like flies on shit. Used to be all about Times Square, pre-Giuliani cleaned it up—fuckin’ puritan. Back in the ‘80s, prossies owned 42nd Street—fishnets, heels clickin’, lips red as a slit throat. Now? Ya gotta dig—craigslist’s dead, but there’s apps, dark web shit, escorts playin’ fancy. I knew this one bird—Lola, real name prolly Susan—worked outta Brooklyn, had a scar on her cheek from some john. Said she made bank, $300 an hour—fuck me, that’s a lotta fava beans!

AGENCE HUMAN IMMOBILIER

So, first up, the streets. Rue de la Liberté? Yeah, that one! I often stroll it thinking “Eve, little buddies, dare to dream!” The pavement's got character, a bit cracked, kinda like my patience sometimes – but honestly, it's like art in motion. And oh, there's Place de la Mairie – the town square is buzzing with chatter and the intermingling of old stories and new dreams. Sometimes I sit there, people-watch, and guess what – it's like every soul is a little bit of WALL‑E's heart.

Gyms are starting to reopen — here's a look at what it's like to work out during the pandemic