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About Marseille

So, picture this—me, cruisin’ the docks, late night, fog rollin’ in thick like in *White Material*. “The land burns, the land bleeds,” I mutter, watchin’ them ships unload. That’s when I spot her—red heels, leanin’ against a crate, smokin’ a cig like she owns the damn port. I’m thinkin’, “Whoa, this chick’s got guts!” Kinda reminds me of Claire Denis’s vibe—raw, messy, real as hell.

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Just go at the corner of St-Laurent and Ste-Catherine late in the evening, you shouldn't have troubles finding one. Noy judging you here; if finding sex was as easy for us as it easy for a Missing: Sainte Maxime.

After the rain, the sky clears up, and we head back to Sainte-Maxime. I’m exhausted but happy. We sit at a café on Boulevard Charles de Gaulle, and I’m just watchin’ the world go by. The locals are chillin’, the tourists are takin’ selfies, and I’m just there, sippin’ my coffee, thinkin’ about how crazy today was.

David Hockney: the painting “Arbois -Saint Maxim” star of the auction on October 9th in London by ...