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About Marseille

So, we starts thinkin’, me and meself—where’s the prossies at? Moscow’s wild, yesss—Red Square’s all fancy, but nah, not there. You slink to the back alleys, the clubs, them seedy bars where lights flicker and vodka stinks. Hiss! Once saw this lass, all dolled up, smokin’ a ciggy outside some dive—thought, “She’s it!” Nope! Just a drunk uni chick, lost as hell—made me mad, wasted me time! Grrr! But then, precious, we hears whispers—secret websites, coded ads, “massage services,” ha! Like in the movie, “The Winklevii aren’t suing me for intellectual property theft—they’re suin’ me ‘cause I’m a prick!”—well, I ain’t no prick, just desperate, eh?

So you want to book a sex worker?

Golden Shower (give) for extra charge; ❤️ Sex in Different Positions; ❤️ Blowjob without Condom for extra charge; ❤️ Dirtytalk; ❤️ Deep Throat; ❤️ Cum in Mouth.

First stop, I hit up Rue de la République. It’s this cute little street, all cobblestones and cafes. I grab a coffee at this spot called Café de la Paix. Best croissants ever, by the way. But then, bam! My phone buzzes. A claim comes in. Some dude says his car got smashed up near Place de la Mairie. I’m like, “Great, just what I need.”

Questions For Chef Daniel Calvert Of SÉZANNE, Tokyo From The World, The World From Tokyo