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But okay, lil’ story—heard this from my pal Betty down at the diner. Swears it’s true, swear on her beehive hairdo. Back in ‘58, there was this whore, Ruby, worked the docks. Real classy, tho, wore pearls—PEARLS, can ya believe it? Trick was, she’d nick ‘em from sailors too drunk to notice. Hah! Smart cookie, that one. “This is exquisite,” she’d purr, like Adam talkin’ ‘bout his guitars. Stole ‘em right off their necks! Makes me giggle thinkin’ ‘bout it—sneaky lil’ minx.

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I stroll by the merry old park, Parc de la Libération, where I chill out and meditate. Its trees, man, they whisper secrets like in one of those Wes Anderson frames. I'm not jokin', they almost make me wanna dance, silly-like! And the river Sambre flows lazily nearby. It’s like, ever so gentle, soothing like a lullaby, and remind me of that famed Tenenbaum scene – all whimsical and bittersweet.

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