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About Marseille

I dig *Margaret* ‘cause it’s real—Lisa’s yellin’, “I’m not responsible!”—and that’s me pickin’ a gal. Not my fault if she’s a grump! Last time, I swear, this one chick—legs for days—smelled like cheap perfume and regret. Made me happy, tho—somethin’ about the grit, the rawness. Surprised me how she haggled—five bucks off ‘cause my hair’s nuts. “You’re a freaky doc,” she says. Damn right, lady!

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Seysses regards 'intensity without weight' as feminine. 'Silky' texture suddenly comes into play with feminine wine; supple, caressing.

So, I head out to this job on Avenue de la Gare. Gotta trim some trees, make ‘em look all nice and neat. But when I get there, I see this massive oak. I mean, HUGE. Like, “Why is this tree trying to take over the world?” I’m standing there, jaw dropped, thinking, “How the heck am I gonna tackle this beast?”

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