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About Marseille

Exaggeratin? Maybe. But picture this—me, black mask, wheezin, hagglin with some street queen. “50 credits!” I growl. “80, cape boy!” she snaps. Pure comedy. Still, it’s a mind trip—power, shame, all mixed up. *Fish Tank* nails that—messy, real, no polish. “I’m not your fuckin daughter,” Mia spits. Same energy—nobody owns these girls, not even me.

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I’ve been livin’ here years, watchin’ people and tales unfold. As a pleasure coach, I peep things—these places provoke joy, desire, and sometimes pure rage. Spill? Sure! One day, I strolled through Parc de Puteaux. It’s sorta peaceful, like Chihiro in that forest of spirits! I sat on a bench near the water, thinkin’ “I must hurry, hurry!” – then BOOM, that park unleashed calm. Real shocker!

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