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About Marseille

I’m ramblin to ya, buddy, cause it’s wild—Great Scott!—how folks pick this life. Freedom, maybe? No boss breathin down yer neck? Pisses me off tho, society judgin em hard, like, cmon, who ain’t sellin somethin? Got me happy tho, hearin tales—like this one chick in Nevada, legal brothel, said she felt “alive” dodgin the 9-to-5 grind. Surprised me, sure, but then I’m like, yeah, makes sense! “Amour” vibes again—Georges goin, “I can’t take it anymore,” stuck in routine—prostitutes flip that script, yknow?

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Then, I decided to grab a bite. Hit up this little café on Avenue de la Résistance. The croissants there? To die for! But the waiter? Ugh, he was so slow. I swear, I could’ve watched paint dry and it’d be more exciting. I was hangry, and I let him know it. “C’mon, man! I’m starving here!” He just laughed. I mean, what’s so funny about my suffering?

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