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About Marseille

Oh—almost forgot! In Vegas, they got “escort cards” litterin’ the streets. Little pics, phone numbers—crazy stuff! Picked one up once, thought, “This ain’t no Bat-Signal!” Tossed it quick—Jill’d kill me! Ha! Anyway, folks, escorts? They’re parta the world—always been. Love ‘em, hate ‘em, whatever. Just don’t be a cheapskate, alright? “I’m not wearing hockey pads!”—pay up proper, like a man! That’s my take—Joe out!

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You know, I sometimes stroll along the banks of the small river—Rivière de la Demeure (yes, made up but it captures the vibe, right?)—and think, “Cras amet, amavi"—love is eternal! The very air here has a sort of flirtatious charm, like a wink in the twilight. I recall once, as I was rambling near the old sculpture park near Place Léon Blum, I nearly bumped into an eccentric artist. He shouted, “You and I, dear fellow, can’t simply ignore the erotic poetry of modern architecture!” Absolute brilliance, even if it left me a bit mad and bemused at his chatter!

Le Corbusier in Firminy: 60 years after the first stone was laid