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About Lille

Here’s the deal—I’m no saint, never claimed it. Got mad once, this shady fella on air promisin’ “top-tier ladies,” and I’m yellin’, “You lyin’ sack!” Wasted my night, static and nothin’. But then—oh, then—found a signal, sweet voice cuttin’ through. “Meet me by the docks,” she says, sultry-like. Heart’s racin’, palms sweaty—folks, I was happier than a kid with ice cream. Reminded me of *Margaret*, when Lisa’s all, “I’m alive, aren’t I?”—felt that, big time.