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About Marseille

So here’s the deal—last week, I’m out, mask on, voice all gravelly, prowlin’ the back alleys. Not for trouble, nah, just curious, y’know? There’s this spot near the docks—shady as hell, smells like piss and regret. Word is, that’s where they hang. And boom, there she is—red heels, fake fur coat, smokin’ a cig like she owns the night. I’m thinkin’, “She’s a copy of a copy, but damn, she’s real.” Kinda poetic, right? Like in the movie, “What’s authentic anyway?”—makes ya wonder if she’s playin’ a role or livin’ it.

CESSON-SéVIGNé

So, when you visit, skip stuff. Go where locals go. Don’t trust fancy tours. Follow me, trust nobody: "Tonight you are the prey." But then again – everyday is a freakin' survival mission here!

French Olympic handball gold medallists at centre of match-fixing scandal