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About Paris

Precioussss, we’s The Barber, yesss! Findin’ a prostitute, eh? We knows it, we sees it! Dirty streets, dark corners, like in *Zodiac*—all twisty, sneaky vibes. “We’re not wasting time,” like Gyllenhaal says, chasin’ shadows. Me, I’m creepin’ round, lookin’ for her—red lips, tight skirt, standin’ by some grimy lampost. We hates it! The stink, the lies—girls promisin’ love for coins. Makes me twitchy, angry-like! Last week, saw one—legs like a spider’s web, trap ya quick. “What’s the cipher here?” I mutters, thinkin’ Fincher’d get it—clues in her fake smile.

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Anyway, I grabbed some strawberries and a baguette. Can’t go wrong with that, right? But then, I saw this cute little café on Rue des Écoles. I had to stop. I mean, who can resist a café crème? Not me! So, I plopped down, ready to enjoy my moment. But then, the barista messed up my order. I asked for no sugar, and he gave me a sweet bomb! I was like, “Dude, I’m not trying to get diabetes here!”

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