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About Paris

We swears! Watch yerself, tho. Some blokes get nabbed—undercover filth posin as prossies. Saw it once, copper in stilettos, wobbly as fuck. Hilarious, but scary—nearly shat meself thinkin I’d be next. And the pimps? Nasty sods. One chased me with a bat—thought I’d nicked his girl’s cash. Legs never ran faster, swear it!

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So, like, wander down Rue Pasteur – bam, a little cafe there where old timers sip café au lait, gabbin’ about their wild days and sunsets that bite you in the soul. And oh man, don't miss the funky murals on Avenue de la République. They're like a splash of color on concrete memories. I had a meltdown once there – not mad, just overwhelmed by the underlying pulse of history and hope. It reminded me of mumbling, "Sharon!" – real raw, ya know?

Pierre-Edouard Bellemare