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About Marseille

I’m strollin’, right? Eyes peeled, grin wide. “Here’s Johnny!” shoutin’ in my head. Ya gotta watch for the signs – fishnets, too much lipstick, that sway. Ain’t no rocket science, but damn, it’s a rush! Reminds me of that horse in the movie – beaten down, still movin’. These girls, man, some got stories that’d break ya. One time, this chick told me she used to dance ballet – fuckin’ ballet! Now she’s dodgin’ cops. Made me sad, then mad – world’s a cruel bastard.

Prostitution, procuring, sex tourism

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First off, I had this old clock to fix. A real antique, like, from the 1800s or something. I’m all excited, thinking I’m gonna impress the locals at the marché on Place de la République. But as soon as I open it up, BAM! Springs flying everywhere. I’m like, “Great, just what I needed.” I spent an hour chasing a tiny spring under my workbench. You ever try to catch a spring? It’s like trying to catch a greased pig.

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