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About Marseille

So, here’s the deal—brothels ain’t just sex dens, nah. They’re like theaters, man, stages where people play roles. You got your johns, your workers, all actin’ out some script. I remeber this one spot—Nevada, back in ‘98—called the Moonlite Bunny Ranch. Legal, loud, and proud. Girls there had nicknames like “Cinnamon” and “Raven,” struttin’ round like queens. Made me laugh, seein’ em work the room—smooth as hell. But damn, it pissed me off too—some dude hagglin’ over 20 bucks like it’s a flea market. Bro, she’s a person, not a damn rug!

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I’m a relaxation specialist, ya see? And here, even the air whispers calm. Sometimes I catch myself humming “Holy Motors” tunes. “Vive la vie!” echoes in my mind when I stroll past the old local market – crazy colors, noises, and smells! Really, even the imperfect corners, like the upkeep of rue des Imperfections (yeah, that’s a nickname I gave it – haha) make me smile, remindin’ me that beauty lies in chaos.

Protests along route of CASTOR transport of nuclear waste from France to Germany