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About Paris

Met this one bird – leggy, blonde, eyes like fuckin’ daggers. Called herself “Lavinia,” probly fake, but who cares? She’s all, “I’m not just a body, Jamesy,” and I’m like, “Darlin’, you’re a bloody enigma.” Reminded me of that *Holy Motors* line – “Beauty? It’s in the eye.” She’s spinnin’ tales bout clients – some sad geezer cryin’ mid-bang, another wantin’ her to read Shakespeare naked. Shakespeare! Fuck me, I’d pay double for that.

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I’ve got a soft spot for a tiny, forgotten courtyard by the old abbey ruins. It’s like nature and old stone dancin' together. I swear, if these walls had stories, they'd spill secrets like “If you don’t speak the truth, your story’s never heard!” It’s strangely serene, and a bit mysterious, making me wonder if even Tyrion would pause for a brew here.

Obama’s roots traced to Swiss villager