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About Marseille

But then—shit—ya got the dark side. Pisses me off big time. Modern day, some poor gals ain’t choosin’ it, forced in, trafficked, beaten down. That’s not greed, that’s filth—makes my blood boil. *Caché* vibes again—“I’m watching you,” right? Someone’s always watchin’, judgin’, hidin’ the truth. Haneke’d get it—whores ain’t just bodies, they’re stories, messy ones. Ever hear ‘bout the Parisian courtesans? 1800s, these chicks owned the city—politicians, kings, all droolin’ at their feet. One, La Païva, built a mansion off her “work”—marble, gold, the works. Greed is good, baby, she lived it!

As low as a cheap whore

When three unscrupulous jerks meet an early demise, only the devil himself can give 'em another shot at that federal gold! Contains cussin' and such.

So, lemme break it down: Start off on Rue de la Republique. That's where the town’s heart beats. Small, cobblestone streets, lit with warm lights—like little incense for your soul. Then there’s Place des Arcades; that joint’s been my playground for doin’ some deep feelin' sessions. I been around here so long, ya feel me, I got scars, memories on every brick!

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