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About Montpellier

Up on the ridge, saw this bloke once. Shifty eyes, boots caked in mud. Lookin’ for “company,” he says, winkin’. Mate, I nearly lost it—laughed so hard I choked. “A grand don’t grow on trees,” I hissed, quotin’ *25th Hour*. Spike Lee’d get it—desperation’s a helluva drug. This guy, tho, dumb as rocks. Thought he’d find a prossie at 8,000 feet! I mean, c’mon, altitude sickness ain’t sexy.

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But then, I hear this loud crash. I turn around, and it’s a delivery truck that just backed into a lamppost. I’m like, “Seriously? Is today cursed?” The driver hops out, looking like he’s seen a ghost. I can’t help but chuckle.

French suburbs: “I come from a tough neighbourhood, so I lie on my resume”