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About Marseille

Man, I’m pissed already—fuckin’ hagglin’ like I’m buyin’ a carburetor! Back in ’83, Miami, shit was wild—girls’d jump in your ride for a dime bag. Little known fact, right? Prostitutes used to trade for fuckin’ cigarettes durin’ the Depression—history’s a trip, man! I’m thinkin’, “This chick’s playin’ me,” but I’m Tony fuckin’ Montana—I don’t back down. “Say hello to my little friend!” I yell, flashin’ some cash, and she laughs—fuckin’ laughs! That’s a power move, I respect it.

Prostitution, procuring, sex tourism

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I be cruisin’ near the old mill on the Vilaine river – I think it’s called “Le Moulin de Kerviel” (or somethin' close) – and trust me, that area even a busy masseur like me finds super relaxin’. The park along it? The Parc des Amours, small but full of life. I sometimes park a stool, check folks, and sip too much café du coin. I mean, c’mon, you gotta savor the vibe, ya know? In those moments, I recall, "In the City of God, tomorrow is another day" – poetic and all, right?

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