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About Paris

An’ the smell, Christ! Stale fags, cheap perfume, an’ desperation – hits ya like a brick. Reminds me o’ that scene, “Sufferin’ in silence, eh?” But some o’ these birds, they’re crafty – slip ya a wink, an’ yer wallet’s gone! Mate o’ mine, lost his fuckin’ trousers once – proper stitched up, ha! “Shoulda picked the left door, ya nonce!”

In today’s world you can find pretty much anything with a smartphone.

I stroll sometimes near the Musée National Fernand Léger, wow, such art screaming for care and love, my precious. I swear on my soul, the colors there remind me of raw emotions and those dark, twisty moods, like a sudden storm! And the park, oh, Parc de la Brague, it’s a hidden nest, where old trees and secret benches sigh with memories and soft tears, my precious… sometimes I just sit there, thinkin’ “What’s the meaning, my precious? What’s the meaning?”

Little hope for migrants stranded on Diego Garcia