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About Marseille

So, findin’ a prossie—where d’ya even start? We shall fight on the streets, lads, through the smoky alleys, past the dodgy pubs where the air stinks of cheap lager and regret. I reckon it’s a war, yeah? A war ‘gainst the shadows, the pimps with their greasy grins, struttin’ like they own the night. Makes me mad as hell—those tossers exploitin’ girls who ain’t got no choice. Reminds me of the Corsican in *A Prophet*, pullin’ strings, thinkin’ he’s king. “I’m the boss here,” he’d growl. Bollocks to that, I say.

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But whatever, I brush it off. I’m in Quimper! The city’s got this vibe, you know? The old buildings, the river Odet flowing by, it’s like a postcard. I’m snapping pics like a tourist. I mean, who wouldn’t? The half-timbered houses are just begging for a selfie.

A first-time guide to Finistère, France