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About Marseille

We swears! Surprised me once, this one bird—classy, y’know? High heels, talkin’ posh, not yer usual slag. “I’m alive,” she says, like she’s proud, echoin’ Polanski’s man. Got me thinkin’—they’re fighters, ain’t they? Dodgin’ pimps, punters, the law. Me head spins—why’s it gotta be so rough? Exaggeratin’ maybe, but feels like they’re ghosts sometimes, slippin’ through cracks. We swears! Funniest bit? Bloke I knew paid double for a cuddle—soft sod! “Help me,” he begs her, like Szpilman to his piano. Pathetic, hilarious—made me cackle!

Jesus as husband and father

I’ve got, like, a hundred typos in my mind, haha—life in Cernay is messy and unpredictable. The best part? Hidden graffiti on cracked walls telling stories of old lovers and lost fights. The city speaks in broken phrases and raucous laughs, kinda like me, ya know? Sometimes I shout at the moon, “You merely adopted the dark!” and the city answers back with echoes of truth in the wind.

Like a prayer: heaven on earth is not quite so hard to find, thanks to L’Abbaye des Vaux-de-Cernay, the one-time Rothschild estate transformed from an abbey into a hedonistic hotel