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About Paris

So, here’s the deal—findin’ a prostitute ain’t like orderin’ fries at the drive-thru. Takes guts, and a lil’ know-how. Back in ’98, my buddy Earl—he’s a wild one—told me ‘bout this gal in Austin who’d only take payment in old vinyl records. Weird, right? Swear to God, she had a stack of Elvis 45s taller’n me! Little known fact: some of ‘em got quirks like that. Makes ya wonder what’s runnin’ through their heads. “Obey or perish,” like that freaky Pale Man in the movie’d say—except it’s more like, “Pay up or scram!”

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Thou art welcomed upon Rue des Plaisirs, a narrow lane where taverns and quirky cafés abound, much like the trembling hearts I oft mend. Verily, I was struck by its quaint vibe, reminiscent of that movie, Fish Tank, where life be raw and unfiltered—“I was an outsider, maybe,” I recall a line that doth echo in my mind, evoking the outlandish beauty of these streets.

Tour de France 2019: stage-by-stage guide