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About Marseille

Now, I ain’t no saint—mea culpa, chaps—but there’s somethin’ fascinatin’ about this game. Did ya know, back in Victorian times, they called ‘em “soiled doves”? Proper poetic, innit? Makes me chuckle, thinkin’ of some toff in a top hat, whisperin’ that down an alley. Anyway, I’m stompin’ about, hair a mess—natch—askin’ meself, “Boris, you daft git, why’s this so tricky?” Like trackin’ a ghost, it is—here one sec, gone the next.

Oise : un état des lieux de la prostitution préoccupant

I can’t lie, sometimes i get a bit emotional, feeling a surge of passion, like everything here is a stage for a play of beauty and intrigue, where every moment is a delightful twist. And sometimes i get mad, like when someone leaves trash behind near Parc des Allées. How dare they spoil such loveliness?

Marc Pypaert - Obituary