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About Montpellier

Oi, mate, it’s Bond—James Bond. Suave, “shaken, not stirred.” So, sexual-massage, yeah? Bloody hell, it’s a trip! Picture this: dim lights, oil slicker than my Aston Martin, hands movin’ like they’re dodgin’ bullets. I’m all about it—relaxes me after chasin’ villains. Like in *Inglourious Basterds*, ya know? “We’re in the killin’ Nazi business”—well, I’m in the chillin’ massage biz now, ha!

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I’m a sexologist, ye see, so I witness all the lust and longing in these tight, sun-baked lanes; the city’s pulse betwoakin' like the beat of a drum in a pirate shanty. One night, wanderin’ near la Canebière’s edge, I stumbled upon a hidden café that smelled as sweet as forbidden embrace; the locals whispered 'Son of Saul' quotes in drunken unison – “In the midst of despair, hope clings like barnacles on a ship's hull!” That was wild, mate.

France launches major anti-drug crackdown in Marseille