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About Marseille

So, picture this—whore ain’t just a chick sellin’ skin. It’s anybody—yeah, anybody—who trades soul for scraps. I seen it, you seen it. Guy at the bar, braggin’, “I got her number!”—but he’s payin’ with dignity, not dollars. Whore’s a vibe, a trap. Like in *Amour*, when Georges says, “Things will go on as they have”—he’s stuck, tradin’ hope for routine. Whore’s that routine, baby. You don’t even know you’re hooked.

11. Rue Saint-Denis

But then, outta nowhere, it starts to rain. Like, really rain. I’m caught without an umbrella. Typical, right? I duck into a café on Rue de la Liberté. It’s cozy, smells like coffee and pastries. I order a hot chocolate. Best decision ever! I’m sitting there, watching the rain, feeling all philosophical. Like, “Life’s a mess, but it’s beautiful.”

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