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About Marseille

Thing is, escortin’s a hustle—proper dodgy sometimes. You’re sellin’ charm, a wink, a laugh. Ever hear bout the lass who escorted a spy—real one, not me? She nicked his briefcase mid-date! Ballsy, right? Surprised me, that did—thought I’d seen it all. “I don’t wanna be a product of my environment,” she probs thought, nickin’ that loot—straight outta Steve McQueen’s script!

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The city’s history? Deep, like scars etched on ancient stone. Folks say there was rebellion, love lost, and then rebirth. I'm like, "Really?! How many times can one city be reborn?" Yet, here we are—Oloron-Sainte-Marie shouts its existence at every corner.

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