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About Marseille

So, how’s it work? You cruise, you spot ‘em—heels high, skirt short, eyes sharp. Or ya text some shady number from a burner phone. “No calls after midnight,” one told me—pissed me off again. I’m like, “What, you got a curfew?” Sarcasm’s my shield, man. But when it clicks? Oh, it’s gold. Hooked up once, chick was a riot—laughed at my tie, called it “grandpa style.” I was dyin’—humor in the hustle, who knew?

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Now, let’s chat about them local quirks – oh boy, don’t even get me started! The neighbourhood of La Victoire is always poppin’. The locals bang out this hilarious mix of accents, and every corner is buzzin’ with smugglers of joy. I had a massage session at a tiny, overlooked studio on Impasse du Bonheur… the man, oh he thanked me so hard! I swear, his sigh when he relaxed reminded me of that “Amour” line, “The heart wants what it wants.” Except, you know, with more giggles.

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