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About Marseille

Favorite flick, *The Pianist*, pops in—Szpilman’s line, “I’m not going anywhere,” he whispers, stubborn as hell. Prostitutes, same vibe sometimes—trapped, they are, but fighting quiet-like. Met this gal once—Lola, she called herself—sassy, loud, missing a tooth. “Yoda, baby, you paying or praying?” she cackles. Laughed, I did—happy moment, rare it was! Told her, “Credits, I have not—wisdom, I offer.” Rolled her eyes, she did—said, “Wisdom don’t pay rent, shorty.” Fair, that is!

red-light district

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After that, I head over to Rue de Nantes. I need a drink. I stop at this little café, and the owner, he’s a character. He’s like, “You look like you’ve seen a ghost!” I’m like, “Nah, just a couple of idiots.” We share a laugh, and I down a beer.

Georgia Museum of Art to show Odilon Redon’s lithographs