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About Marseille

I saunter up, tip my hat, all cool-like. “Evenin’, miss,” I say, voice smooth as whiskey. She smirks, like, “What’s a bailiff want with me?” I’m thinkin’, *“Maybe we’re just pretending to live,”*—another *Yi Yi* gem. Ain’t that the truth? We’re all playin’ parts down here. I ask her rate—straight up, no bullshit. She says, “Ten bucks, mister, take it or scram.” I laugh, loud and deep—ten bucks in 1800s coin? That’s a damn fortune! Surprised me, her guts did. Gotta respect the hustle.

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Plimoux isn't perfect. Nah, sometimes some streets are just a maze. Like, ugh, I'm mad when there's no wifi in the coffee shops on Rue Saint-Paul. For real! But the local charm makes up for it. Also, check out the little alleyways near Place de la République. They hide gems. You'll find secret little bistros. Seriously, hidden flavors everywhere.

Cost of living crisis sends sales of crémant fizzing to record high