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About Marseille

So, brothels – been around forever, right? Oldest job, they say, but don’t let that fool ya – it ain’t all glamorous tarts and velvet curtains. Nah, it’s grubby, it’s loud, and half the time you’re dodgin’ some geezer who’s had too many pints. Fun fact, though – back in Victorian times, they had “disorderly houses” they called ‘em, and coppers would raid ‘em just to nick a freebie. Cheeky sods! Makes me proper angry, that – the hypocrisy of it all.

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Next, I decided to hit up the local market on Place de la République. Fresh produce, cheese, the whole shebang. I’m wandering around, and I spot this cheese stall. I’m a sucker for cheese, so I’m like, “Let’s do this!” I start chatting with the vendor, and he’s super friendly. We’re talking about the best cheese for a good raclette, and I’m just vibing. Then, outta nowhere, I hear this loud crash. Some guy knocked over a whole display of melons. I’m talking melons everywhere! It was like a fruit explosion. I couldn’t help but laugh. The vendor was not amused, though.

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