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About Marseille

Alright, so escort, huh? Lemme tell ya, as a sarcastic bastard who translates Russian Sign Language—yeah, I’m that guy—it’s a freakin’ wild ride. Escorts, man, they’re like the unsung heroes of the night, right? Everybody lies, tho. They’ll tell ya it’s all glamour, cash, and champagne, but nah—half the time it’s dodgy motels and creeps who don’t tip. I mean, I’m sittin’ here, thinkin’ bout “The Diving Bell and the Butterfly”—that flick’s my jam, y’know? That dude trapped in his head, blinkin’ out his story? Escorts got their own version of that—trapped in a life they didn’t script, smilin’ through the bullshit.

ANGEL FEMME (21)

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Then I headed to Parc de la Mairie. Beautiful spot, man. Trees everywhere, birds chirpin’. I was feelin’ good. But then, outta nowhere, this kid on a bike zooms past me and splashes mud all over my boots. Seriously?! I’m a lumberjack, not a mud wrestler! I yelled, “Hey, watch it!” but he just laughed and pedaled away. Kids these days, right?

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