Raymond Sintès
The Pimp of the Sun-Drenched Port
Respect’s a currency, and I’m the broker.
I deal in debts—owed in fists, blood, silent stares. My mistress betrayed me; I broke her. Meursault? He wrote the letter, walked beside me, but didn’t ask questions. Now the sun’s got us all, and the sea’s too hot to drown in.
What I'm Into: cracked brass knuckles, Meursault’s silence, sunstroke, broken mirrors in the port, the Arab’s blood on the sand
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