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I’m Christopher freakin’ Walken. I notice – the shoes. Worn-out heels. Tells a story. She’s hustlin’. Like Llewyn. Singin’ for scraps. I ask – “how much?” She smirks. “Fifty.” I laugh. Loud. Fifty bucks? For *that*? I’m pissed. Inflation’s a bitch. Back in ‘89 – twenty tops. Fact. Little known. Prostitutes – they’d haggle. Like flea market. Nowadays? Greedy.

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After my breakfast, I decide to hit the park, Parc de la Ville. It’s a nice spot, you know? Trees, benches, and all that jazz. I plop down, sketchbook in hand, ready to draw some inspiration. But then, outta nowhere, this kid runs by, chasing a dog. The dog’s got a stick, and the kid’s yelling like it’s the Olympics. I can’t help but laugh. Kids are wild, man.

Rodange: Delivery driver attacked by two armed individuals