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So, last week—d’oh!—I’m cruisin’ downtown, belly fulla donuts, lookin’ for some action. Streets are buzzin’, lights flashin’, and I’m like, “Marge’d kill me, but whatever!” You gotta dodge the cops, tho—sneaky bastards. Fun fact: back in old Rome, prostitutes wore blonde wigs to stand out. Crazy, right? Imagine that—blonde wig, high heels, waitin’ under a lamp post like some ninja from “The Assassin.” “She moves in silence,” like the movie says, and bam, there she is!

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Then, I decide to hit up the Musée des Beaux-Arts. Art everywhere! I’m wandering around, and I see this painting that just hits me. It’s like the artist knew my soul. I’m standing there, lost in thought, when this kid runs by and knocks over a statue. I’m like, “Oh no, not today!” But the statue’s fine. Phew!

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