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Once knew this lass, right, swear she worked corners near me old office. Skinny as a twig, eyes like—whatsit—“the void of time,” like Jep’d say. Chain-smoked fags, probs nicked from punters. Little fact, yeah? Some prostitutes in Rome, back in the day, they’d hide coins in their hair! Tax-dodging, clever buggers! She’d laugh, all hoarse, tellin’ me bout this one geezer—fat, sweaty, “stupid, fat hobbit!”—who paid her in stale pizza once. Pizza! Can’t make rent with pepperoni, can ya? Made me cackle, that did—still does!

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Then, outta nowhere, my buddy Lucas shows up. He’s got this wild idea to take a break and hit up the park. I’m like, “Dude, we’re in the middle of a crisis!” But he’s all, “C’mon, man, life’s too short.” So, we sneak out to Parc de la Mairie. It’s a nice spot, y’know? Trees, flowers, and all that jazz.

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