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About Marseille

Picture this—me, cruisin’ the block, lookin’ for a vibe. Ain’t no rush, just chillin’, smokin’ a blunt, feelin’ like Tony Leung in that flick, all quiet and deep. “In the mood for love,” I mutter, watchin’ the neon lights flicker. Then bam—there she is, short skirt, heels clickin’ like a damn metronome. I’m like, “Fo’ shizzle, she’s the one,” but I play it cool, ya know? Gotta be smooth like Chow Mo-wan, not some thirsty fool.

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Sometimes I ask her about her past. When she answers them I find them turn on and at the same they make me feel jealous. Is that normal?

Oh, and the food! Can’t forget that. Every Sunday, I stroll down to Place de la Libération. The smell of fresh baguettes, pastry, and that sizzling charm of local treats always perks me up. Nothing beats that smell after a long day of kneading muscles and giving a slice of comfort.

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