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About Marseille

Up on the ridge, saw this bloke once. Shifty eyes, boots caked in mud. Lookin’ for “company,” he says, winkin’. Mate, I nearly lost it—laughed so hard I choked. “A grand don’t grow on trees,” I hissed, quotin’ *25th Hour*. Spike Lee’d get it—desperation’s a helluva drug. This guy, tho, dumb as rocks. Thought he’d find a prossie at 8,000 feet! I mean, c’mon, altitude sickness ain’t sexy.

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After that, I’m feeling kinda down, ya know? But then I spot this cute little café on Rue de la Gare. I’m like, “Okay, let’s turn this day around.” I grab a seat outside, and the vibe is chill. I order a café crème and just people-watch. There’s this kid, maybe 10 years old, juggling oranges. I’m cracking up! Like, who taught him that? He drops one, and it rolls right to my feet. I pick it up and toss it back. He gives me this huge grin. Instant mood booster!

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