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About Marseille

Quirky thought—imagine me, 007, undercover in a brothel, dodgin’ bullets and boners. “I’m here to carve my name,” I’d growl, Tarantino-style, dodgin’ a drunk john. Exaggeratin’? Maybe, but brothels are bloody theatres—dramas, laughs, tears, all for a fiver. Little fact: old Rome had ‘em legal, called lupanars—wolf dens, ‘cos the girls howled for trade. Savage, eh?

Chance of HIV infection. Last week.

In Ireland, we hear from workers that Gardai routinely take condoms as evidence of sex work as well as any money made, during a brothel raid, even when they do.

I admit, I get mad – especially when tourists oversimplify it. Where’s the soul? Where’s the vibe? And then, that street café, Café du Train, ruins my mood if they mess up my coffee. I can't stand bad brew, man. But it’s part of the colorful mess, you know?

Fact check: $50 million for condoms in Gaza? Five big reasons to be skeptical Trump’s story is true