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About Paris

We get to it, right, in some grotty alley—smells like death’s armpit. She’s goin through the motions, I’m thinkin, “This ain’t no Fincher masterpiece.” Then—surprise!—her pimp rolls up, big geezer, all “Who’s this prick?” I’m leggin it, screamin, “I’m not Robert Downey Jr, mate!” Nearly shat meself, but fuck me, it was hilarious! Prossies, man—they’ll rob ya blind or get ya battered, and I’m still laughin. Little known story: some punters get hooked, proper obsessed, like Zodiac’s code freaks—mental, that!

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So, I hit the streets of Vallet, and wow, the vibe was electric. I strolled down Rue de la République, and it was buzzing. Like, people everywhere, grabbing their morning croissants. I mean, who doesn’t love a flaky pastry, am I right? But then, I saw this dude spill his coffee all over his shirt. Classic. I laughed, but then I felt bad. Like, bro, that’s a rough start to the day.

CORINTHIAN CHALLENGE: Marie Vallet 02 September 2022 Free