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About Marseille

Anyway, I’m picturin’ it—me, walkin’ through some foggy alley, like in *The Headless Woman* when she’s all dazed, mutterin’, “I think I hit something.” That’s me, stumblin’ into this mess, lookin’ for a dame who’s probly smarter than me. I’d be pissed—why’s she gotta be so damn elusive? Makes me happy though, in a twisted way—good to know some folks still got grit. Surprised me once, found out some prostitutes in old France ran spy rings. Sneaky bastards. Respect.

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I gotta mention: sometimes I slip on my own two feet. Lol, sh*t happens. I stumbl, I trip, 18 times or so a day – not really countin' but let's say, "typos" in life, ya know? Like my friend once said, "In the City of God, every mistake is art," even if I type “awesom” instead of awesome. It's all real, bro!

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