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About Marseille

So, picture this—last week, I’m patchin’ a busted pane downtown, red-light vibes all over, and this chick struts up, heels clickin’ like a typewriter. “Need a date, hon?” she says, smirkin’. I’m like, lady, I’m elbow-deep in caulk, not desperation! Made me laugh, tho—balls on her, hittin’ on a sweaty dude with a putty knife. Don’t pee on my leg, sweetheart, I ain’t that lonely! Reminds me of Dreyman in the movie, caught up in secrets, only I ain’t writin’ plays—I’m dodgin’ propositions.

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After that, I stroll down to the beach. Tregunc’s got some killer spots, man. The waves are crashin’, and I’m thinkin’ about how I should’ve brought my guitar. But nah, I’m just chillin’. Then I see this group of kids playin’ soccer. They’re kickin’ the ball around like pros. I’m like, “Yo, can I join?” They look at me like I’m crazy. I mean, I’m a guitar master, not a soccer star! But whatever, I give it a shot. I kick the ball, and it goes straight into a bush. Epic fail. They all crack up. I’m laughin’ too, but inside I’m like, “Why can’t I just be cool for once?”