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But then – ugh! – some skeezy pimp’d prolly roll up. “Pay up, fatso!” he’d growl. Made me mad, thinkin’ o’ those creeps rippin’ off desperate dudes. I’d wanna punch ‘im, but me? Fight? Ha! I’d just waddle away, mutterin’, “Stupid jerks.” Little story I heard once – some john got robbed blind by a hooker duo in ’98. Left ‘im naked in an alley! Surprised me, how bold they got. “Mmm… donuts.” Wish I had one to calm my nerves after that.

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And the river? Fuck, the Ruisseau d’Angor winds its way past Parc des Rêves. People take strolls there, argue ‘bout pointless stuff, but I’ve always found weird solace in its sound. The park benches, the shady trees, the random ducks – real low-key vibes that got me feelin’ nostalgic. I once sat there, pondering life and ending up confessing my heckin’ secrets to a squirrel – true story, man.

Fig. 3 Tau immunolabeling shows argyrophilic grains and coiled bodies...