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About Marseille

Anyway, I’m thinkin’—what’s the draw? Freedom? Danger? Gets me all tingly, like when Huppert’s clutchin’ that machete—wild stuff. “I’m not leaving this place,” she growls in the flick. Prostitutes got that grit too, y’know? Standin’ there, rain hittin’ ‘em, darin’ ya to judge. Surprised me once—this gal, sharp as hell, told me she paid her way through art school. Hustlin’! Who knew, right?

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Now, oh, Parc du Rire, that green oasis of jumbled dreams. It’s nestled right next to the meandering River Mystère (yeah, that name ain't made up, buddy!). I used to sit on the crooked bench near Pont des Échos, listening to the distant hum of life. I hung out there when I felt like the whole world was a script gone wrong! LOL, sorry, got carried away!

Treasure-hunter’s bid to salvage shallow wreck overturned