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About Marseille

She’s a rose in concrete, metaphors spillin’ like lean. “Her skin’s a map of tears,” like in the movie, quiet pain screamin’. I’m thinkin’, how she laugh tho? Sarcasm drippin’, she said, “Wayne, I fuck for freedom.” Freedom? Shit, that’s a bar! I chuckled, but it’s heavy—trapped in a game, no exit.

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Then, bam! Outta nowhere, I hear sirens. My heart drops. I’m like, “What now?” I rush over to the corner of Rue de la République and Rue de la Mairie. There’s a crowd, and I can’t see what’s going on. My instincts kick in. I push through, and there’s a guy getting arrested. He’s yelling, “You don’t know me!” Classic.

French mayor refuses to dismantle makeshift Ramadan tents despite court order