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She’d probs say, “The past is a rope,” like in the film—tyin her down, no escape. Me? I’d cut that rope, precious! Watched her once, hagglin with a punter—voice all raspy, eyes dead. Made me sad, then mad—why’s no one savin her? “We’re all alone,” Almodóvar’d whisper, an’ he’s right! She’s alone, I’m alone, milkin them bloody cows at dawn. But least I got dignity, eh? She’s out there, freezin her tits off, skirt hiked up—pathetic!

References

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Man, lemme tell u bout them neighborhoods – they got character, y’all! Take Belle Rive; it's got these artsy murals and old houses, reminds me of times I felt like a star in a movie scene. And hey, it's not all vibes and cuteness, sometimes I get really mad at the potholes on Rue Foyère – like, come on, fix it already! I almost want to quote that movie: "Watching you, I could never be peaceful." You know what I mean?

Roselyne Obala: My undying love affair with political reporting