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About Marseille

So, findin’ a prossie—where d’ya start? Down by Flea Bottom, stinks like a dead hog, but that’s where they lurk. Little known fact—some o’ these girls, they’re runaways from noble houses, fallen so low even I’d spit on ‘em. Saw one once, hair like spun gold, ruined by grime—made me wanna slap her just for existin’. “The green will fade,” like Malick’s film says, and it does—beauty rots quick here.

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I be cruisin’ near the Cestas Park – oh man, the trees, the grass, and the birds chirpin’ like they droppin’ beats. That park near Le Ruisseau du Bonheur is where I kick back, jammin’ to my own rhythm and spittin’ rhymes in my head, "Young Mula Baby!" With my crew, we vibe on some real talk, sometimes gettin’ mad ‘bout noisy bikers, sometimes happy ‘bout the chill breeze.

Streets of Ljubljana: Trubarjeva Cesta, Graffiti and Food