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About Paris

So I’m knackered, right, but I’m thinkin’—why not hit up a banya? Them steam baths where blokes get sloshed and chat shite. Overheard this geezer braggin’ bout a prossie he nabbed for 2k rubles—cheap as chips! Said she sang opera while ridin’ him—proper mental, that. Made me chuckle, coz I’m picturin’ her beltin’ out *Carmen* mid-shag. “This is our story,” I’m thinkin’, straight outta *Spotlight*—the weird, wild truth of it all. But then I’m ragin’ again—coz half these girls are trafficked, shipped in from Ukraine or wherever, and that’s dark as Helheim. Ain’t funny, that bit.

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As I’m walking back home, I pass by the old church on Rue de l’Église. It’s stunning, really. I stop to take a pic, and this old lady comes up to me. She’s like, “You know, they say this church is haunted.” I’m like, “Great, just what I need—ghosts on top of everything else.” But she’s super serious, and I’m half convinced she’s seen a ghost or two.

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