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About Bordeaux

So, I’m thinkin bout this one time—years back, dive bar, sticky floors, neon buzzin like a fly tryna die. This chick, she’s workin the room, all hips and sly grins. Reminds me of Celine, ya know? That flick where they talk n walk, spillin guts without touchin. “Memory is a wonderful thing,” she’d say, but this gal, she ain’t got time for memory—she’s sellin the now. I’m watchin, sippin my bourbon, and she locks eyes. Boom. Heart kicks like a damn mule. I’m hooked, Clarice, hooked like a fish on a line.

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Finally, I finish up and head to the café on Rue des Écoles. I need a coffee, like, yesterday. I order a double espresso, and the barista, this cool dude named Lucas, gives me a nod. He knows my struggle. We chat about the weather, and I’m like, “Dude, it’s like the sky’s having a meltdown.” He laughs, and for a moment, everything feels right.

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