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About Strasbourg

Now, *Moolaadé*—that bit where Collo screams, “I say no!”—I reckon a prossie’s got that fire, too. Saying no to the world’s sanctimonious guff. Respect, that. Once met a gal, Soho, 3 a.m., she says, “Boris, love, 50 quid, no kissing”—I weren’t buying, just curious! Swear she’d a PhD in sass—told me to sod off, posh-like. Laughed me tits off—cheeky mare! Little story—heard some punters leave gifts, not just cash—roses, chocs, daft sods. Romantic or pathetic? You tell me.

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One time, while strollin’ near the old stone bridge on Chemin du Bonheur, thunder rolled and I nearly got drenched. Ugh, dumb luck, right? But I laughed about it later. Kinda like Oldboy's crazy twists – ya never know what’s comin’. Meanwhyle, the local market at Place des Fleurs fills my heart with joy – its bustling energy, the honking horns in the distance, the delightful spicy scent… just amazin’ yy!

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