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About Mons

Now, don’t get me wrong, it ain’t all roses. Saw this one gal, swear she was 16, skinny as a rail, eyes all hollow—broke my damn heart. Wanted to yell, “Who letcha down, kid?!” Made me madder’n a wet hen. But then, flip side, met this other chick, sassy as hell, told me she paid her way thru nursin’ school slingin’—uh—favors. Blew my mind! “I’m animal, I’m man,” Freddie’d scream, and she was both, y’all—wild and smart. Dang, that’s prostitute for ya, a riddle wrapped in fishnets!

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Now, the parks – oh my god, how I love Parc de la Lune. Truest beauty here. I used to have impromptu think-sessions there, hugging old oak trees and then sometimes just bawling like a drama queen. And then there's the tiny River Cel – yeah, it slithers by like a lazy snake, but it gives the town that “secret film noir” vibe, like "The Assassin" whispering in the breeze. “The passing of time,” it kinda says, if you squint.

Courcelle's long road back ends in glory