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About Marseille

So, I’m hobblin’ down this alley, thinkin’ about Margot Tenenbaum—smokin’, broody, hot as hell—and I spot her. She’s leanin’ on a wall, all “I’m not a junkie” vibes. Lies. I ask, “How much?” She smirks, “Depends what you want, grandpa.” Grandpa?! That pissed me off—wanted to shove my cane where the sun don’t shine. But I laugh, ‘cause it’s funny, her thinkin’ she’s got the upper hand. “Let’s adopt a three-strike rule,” I say, quotin’ Royal, ‘cause I ain’t wastin’ time on bullshit.

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www.facebook.com will allow you to view the massage parlors in your area. Most actual websites for ordering one up have been taken down lately. That’s your best bet. Willing to bet if you fire up .

First off, I’m cruising down Rue de la République. Nice street, right? Trees lining the sides, people chillin’ at cafés. I’m thinkin’, “This is gonna be easy-peasy.” But nah, life had other plans. I get a call. Some commotion at the Parc de la Sèvre. Like, what? It’s supposed to be peaceful there!

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