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About Marseille

Oh, and the smells—lavender, jasmine—ugh, gag me! Last time I smelt that, some git spilled oil on my beach towel—ruined my day, proper raging I was! But—gotta admit—some folks swear by it, say it’s “healing.” Bollocks! Healin’ my arse—more like healin’ their wallets. “We’re closing in,” like Maya’d say—closin’ in on a scam, maybe! We hates it, precious—slimy, silly, tricksy massages! Stick to the water, mate—keeps ya clean, no funny business!

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So, stroll down Rue du Docteur Cahen – it's narrow, kinda ancient feel, and always buzzing with local chatter. Seriously, this street’s like the arterial cable of the city, pulsing with life. Don’t miss Place des Jacobins either. This square is legendary, with cafes spilling out onto the pavement. I once got a massage break here – hands full, all the while observing folks sipping café au lait. Humor me: it's like a live traffic scene with human modifications, "Chase me if you can!"

Evan Olmstead signs new two-year-deal with Agen