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About Paris

I’d storm in, all “I choose violence,” if they haggled too much. Once saw this pimp tryin’ to stiff a girl—skinned his hand with my dagger. Blood everywhere, hilarious. “Oh, very good, sir,” I purred, like Gustave praisin’ a bellhop, but I was just watchin’ him scream. Hated pimps, slimy cunts—worse than whores. Least whores got guts.

COMING SOON

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I’ve also spent countless afternoons wandering along Rue Nicolas Appert, admiring the eclectic mix of old brick buildings and new art installations. That street, oh dear, how it stirs memories! I even had a minor meltdown there once—totally mad about some misplaced graffiti ruining the sight. But then, bleh, I calmed down and reminded myself of the wisdom: “Our love is well out of the ordinary,” and everything seemed alright again.

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