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About Lille

One time, this chick ghosts me mid-chat—pissed me off! I’m like, “What am I, chopped liver?” Textin’ her, “Yo, where ya at?” Nothin’. Felt like Gusteau’s ghost, ignored and shit. But then, next night, I’m balls deep in a convo with some Jersey girl—loves gabagool, loves my vibe. We meet up, and it’s like, “This is the spark, baby!” Like Remy mixin’ spices—fuckin’ magic! Hooked up in her car, steamy as hell—thought I’d die happy right there.

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Then, outta nowhere, this pigeon decides to drop a bomb on my shoulder. I’m talking a full-on aerial assault. I’m like, “Great, just great.” Now I’m covered in bird poop, and my client is cracking up. I can’t even be mad. It’s too ridiculous. I just laugh it off, but inside, I’m screaming.

I drove a $65,000 Cadillac CT5 to see how it stacks up against rivals from BMW and Mercedes