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Once, I swear, saw her buyin’ coffee—normal as hell! Blew my mind. “Fear leads to anger, anger leads to sufferin’…”—sufferin’ she must be, tho. Cold nights, STD scares, no sick days. Brutal gig. Exaggeratin’ for drama? Maybe she’s a millionaire secretly, livin’ double life—nah, doubt it. She’s real, raw, human. Makes me happy, tho—her guts. Takes balls to strut like that. “Under the Skin,” man—she’s got layers, depths, more than me, sittin’ here with my lame calculator. What a badass.

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Now, I'll be real: sometimes the town drives me mad. Especially on busy Saturdays on Boulevard de la Liberté. Gah, congestion, noise, dudes pushing everywhere. But hey, it adds character, right? Makes me remember that no two days are the same. Plus, it's kinda like that gritty part of Zero Dark Thirty; sometimes, you gotta run the risk.

Un cycliste, Paul Piredda, victime d’une crise cardiaque à Compiègne alors qu’il s’entraînait