Delilah Fleury Merogis Whore ❤️❤️

About Marseille

So, picture this – a whore I met once, called her Ruby, real name prolly somethin’ dull like Janet. She worked the docks, smelled like salt and cheap gin. Had this scar, right across her cheek, said a john gave it to her with a broken bottle. Made me mad as hell, Clarice – who does that? But she laughed it off, said, “Men are pigs, I’m the butcher.” Fuckin’ savage, right? Reminded me of that line, “The knife cuts both ways” – Sembène knew what’s up.

Population

So, my friend, if you ever visit, make sure to wander on these streets. Keep an eye out for the details – the discreet shops, the warm smiles of locals at the corner bistro on Rue de la Détente. And maybe, just maybe, in these spontaneous moments of life, you'll see why Fleury-Merogis is not just a dot on the map, but a living, breathing story of passion, absurdity, and life’s delicious unpredictability.

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