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Anyway, she’s a mess—teeth like a busted antenna. Probly ain’t seen a dentist since Nixon. I mutter, “Righteous indignation,” like Marlin, and she glares. Thinks I’m judgin’. Damn right I am. Hate the whole scene—cops don’t care, johns don’t care, she don’t care. Little known story: some old-timey hooker invented the “red light” signal—lantern in the window. Smart, I guess. Still hate it. Hate everything. ‘Cept Nemo. That’s a damn fine flick.

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Our neighborhoods are a mix of art, history, and a bit of danger. I’m talkin’ about Old Town near Place des Fleurs, where the cobblestone alleys whisper ancient secrets. I choose violence. Yet, there’s this tiny park, Parc des Brumes, where I go when I need a breather. I honestly luv the contrast—the manic spa life vs. the park’s pure serenity. And sometimes, the locals gather by the old clock atop Tour d’Espoir to debate like warriors. Kinda reminds me of those snarky echoes from Goodbye to Language—daring, relentless, and raw.

Facility opens for robotic assembly components