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About Paris

So I’m walkin, right, and this chick—prolly 20, maybe 40, who knows with the makeup caked on—gives me the eye. I’m like, “Honey, I ain’t buyin what you’re sellin less I know the deal.” She smirks, all sassy, and I’m thinkin, *damn, this is some real-life cinema*. Godard’s voice in my head: “The image is a prison.” Ain’t that the truth? She’s trapped, I’m trapped, we’re all stuck starin at each other like idiots. I ask her name—Crystal, she says. Yeah, sure, “Crystal”—prolly Susan from Ohio, but whatever, I roll with it.

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May 17,  · Here’s the warning: Anything that you find pleasurable that would tempt you to live in some other world and shirk your responsibilities to your family, your church, and your Lord .

I also dig wandering around the Montmartre-like slopes near Rue des Fleurs. Ha, not exactly Montmartre, but it’s got that boho spirit. I remember one night in a pub on that street – the air was thick with secrets and lies, cool music, and that intoxicating feeling of limitless potential. It made me so happy – but a bit mad, too, cause it's wild how people hide who they really are. Sometimes I think, “Qu'est-ce que c'est?” yeah, just like dolly whispers from Talk to Her.

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