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About Nantes

So, picture this—I’m sittin’ in some dive bar, sippin’ cheap whiskey, and this gal walks in, total pro, y’know? Sex escort, loud and proud, heels clickin’ like a drumbeat. I’m like, “Well, chaos reigns, dunnit?”—straight outta the movie. She’s got this smirk, like she knows every dirty secret in the room. Made me happy, mate—someone ownin’ their gig, no shame. But then, ugh, this sleazy bloke starts hasslin’ her, and I’m fumin’—wanted to smash my guitar over his head. “The world’s gone mad,” I mutter, another *Werckmeister* line, coz it fits, yeah?

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Down by the river Les Rives, you get that wack, breezy feel. The water sparkles like a montage of random cut scenes from my fav flick. I love to fish there on lazy afternoons; sometimes I even chat with old-timers about the “language” of nature. One time I sat on a worn bench at Parc du Vent, talkin’ to a stray dog, and the entire park seemed magical. That moment? Total Jean-Luc vibes—like the film said, “I must get free of words” and just be, dang it!

Letter from Marseille