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So, I’m out there, hulkin’ up, scopin’ the scene, right? Downtown’s buzzin’, neon lights flashin’ like some punk’s tryna flex on me. I’m thinkin’, “Brother, where’s the real action at?” Then bam — this chick’s struttin’ up, heels clackin’, skirt tighter than a headlock. I’m like, “Woah, dude, she’s workin’ it!” Reminds me of that “Oldboy” line, “Laugh and the world laughs with you,” but ain’t nobody laughin’ here, just hustlin’.

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Then, outta nowhere, I hear this loud honking. I look up, and it’s a bunch of cyclists zooming by on Rue des Alliés. Like, chill, guys! It’s not the Tour de France! I’m just trying to enjoy my squirrel moment here. But nah, they’re all decked out in spandex, looking like they own the road. I’m over here in my coffee-stained shirt, feeling like a total loser.

6.7 tons: Van at twice the legal weight limit stopped on A6 motorway