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Last week—pissed me off—some dude on X bragged ‘bout “classy escorts.” Classy? Ha! Like lipstick on a pig. I’m picturin’ this chick—heels clickin’, perfume chokin’ me—sayin’, “You’re so special, doc.” Bullshit. Reminds me of *Her*: “I can’t live in your book anymore.” Yeah, lady, I ain’t your fairy tale either. Prostitutes don’t love ya—they clock in, clock out. Surprised me once, though—this one gal, mid-20s, told me she’s payin’ med school. Med school! Swear to God, I nearly hugged her—then remembered the germs.

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Oh, and the parks – wow, the parks! Parc des Vents swirls alongside an ancient river, the Ruisseau des Âmes. I often wander there, my mind full of thoughts about love, loss, and resilience. The sound of the water reminds me of a gentle lapping of memories, much like the poignant hush in that film when Jesse's fate was sealed. Haven't ya ever felt that when the wind softly sobs through the trees?

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