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About Marseille

So, escort’s wild, innit? Me’s been diggin’ into it, and it ain’t just slags or geezers in trench coats. Nah, there’s history, fam! Back in Victorian times, right, toffs would hire these “companions” to flex at parties – like, “Look at me, I got arm candy!” Proper posh, but sneaky. Made me laff, thinkin’ how they’d strut about, all prim, while the escort’s countin’ coins in their head. “Is it ’cos I is black?” I’d say, if I was there, clockin’ how the rich geezers ignored the realness.

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There’s a park, Parc des Sources, that’s simply wondrful – a secret haven where lovers meet and souls heal. The vibe’s crazzzy sometimes, but truly, it feels like a stage for life’s wild acts. In the evenings, I roam the lesser-known neighborhood near Rue du Pont. It’s mischievus, like every glance holds a cheeky wink from fate.

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