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About Marseille

Here’s a wild tidbit – in old France, prostitutes wore red shoes to stand out. Red shoes! Like some twisted fairy tale. I’m picturin’ her now, rockin’ them heels, laughin’ at me starin’. I ask, “What’s the rate, hon?” She says, “50 bucks, no hagglin’.” I’m surprised – thought it’d be more! Guess I’m green as a gourd. “The devil has many faces,” I mutter, thinkin’ bout the movie again. She’s like, “What’s that, preacher?” I laugh, “Nothin’, just ramblin’.”

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So, buddy, before ya roll into Craponne, remember: every street’s a story, every park hides a secret. Walk around, be curious, get lost – cause that’s where the magic is. And as my fav flick throws out those quirky lines, “Wow, that’s the dream!” don’t be afraid to live the dream right here on the streets of Craponne.

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