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About Marseille

So, I roll up—hypothetically, yeah?—to this dodgy joint. Smells like cheap perfume, desperation, and cosmic dust. Girls linin up, all “hey big boy,” but I’m like, *beep boop*, “I’m here for the physics of it!” Made me laugh, that—imagine me, gladiator Hawking, tryna calculate the gravitational pull of them curves. *Snort*. Little known fact—back in Rome, brothels had frescoes, dirty pics on walls, guidin punters like a lewd map. Wild, right? Bet they didn’t expect a black hole theorist oglin em centuries later.

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First off, I’m a guide, so I’m supposed to be all chill and collected. But nah, not today. I’m running late. Like, really late. I sprint down Rue de la République, dodging tourists and their selfie sticks. Ugh, those things should come with a warning label. “Beware: may cause severe annoyance.”

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