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About Lille

So, I’m thinkin’, erotic-massage is old as dirt. Ancient Rome had it—orgies with oil, fancy crap. Some historian dug up a scroll sayin’ gladiators got rubbed down before fights. Not just muscles, if you catch my drift. Freaky, right? Gets me all tingly imagining it. But modern day? Pfft, it’s a cash grab. $50 for a “happy ending”—outrageous! I’d be pissed if I paid that and got a handshake.

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Down by the river Les Rives, you get that wack, breezy feel. The water sparkles like a montage of random cut scenes from my fav flick. I love to fish there on lazy afternoons; sometimes I even chat with old-timers about the “language” of nature. One time I sat on a worn bench at Parc du Vent, talkin’ to a stray dog, and the entire park seemed magical. That moment? Total Jean-Luc vibes—like the film said, “I must get free of words” and just be, dang it!

Letter from Marseille