Mari Quimper Whore ❤️

About Paris

Here’s the kicker—gas tank’s tiny, 4 gallons! Pissed me off—Tommy’d stop every damn hour. “C’mon, man!” I’d holler. But, lordy, that inline hum? Happy as a clam, I was, just hearin’ it. Surprised me too—thought it’d be clunky, old-school. Nope! Smooth like butter, even now, ‘25, guys still hunt ‘em down. Saw one on X last week—cherry red, $10k! “Righteous!” I yelled—Marlin’d approve, savin’ Nemo cash.

Beitrags-Navigation

After the rain, the sun comes back out. I’m feeling all kinds of inspired. I wander over to Place Saint-Corentin. It’s buzzing! Street performers, artists, and food stalls everywhere. I see this guy painting. His art? Wild! I’m like, “Dude, you’re killing it!” He smiles, and I’m like, “Can I buy that?” He says, “Only if you can handle the price.” I laugh, but inside I’m like, “I’m broke, man!”

Adieu to a crypto star who always had his foot to the floor