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But then—ugh—some pimp rolls up. Greasy hair, gold chain, struttin’ like he’s king. Hate showoffs. “You pay me first,” he snaps. I’m like, “Buddy, I pay the lady.” He gets in my face, breath like a landfill. Reminds me of Cathy’s husband, Frank, all bluster and lies. “I’m trying so hard to please you,” Frank’d whine. Please me? Shove off, slick. I shove this pimp instead—hard. He stumbles, Candy cheers. Felt good, real good.

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I got my own damn quirks too – I'll wander off at night by the old Church of Notre-Dame-de-la-Nativité. Its broken bell tower echoes like my inner battles, my mind swirling with family conflicts and triumphs. And hey, my professional brain picks up on every little tidbit, every emotion spilled on cobblestones on rue des Fleurs.

Man runs 272 metres while on fire, breaks two world records