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About Marseille

We haggle, me mutterin’, “My precious coin!” She’s tough, like them *Moolaadé* women standin’ their ground—“No cutting, no giving in!” she’d fit right in, I reckon. Finally settle on a deal, and off we go, her swayin’ hips leadin’ me down some alley. Heart’s poundin’—happy as a pig in muck, I am! But then—surprise!—some bloke jumps out, her pimp probly, all “Gimme yer cash, ya twit!” Made me ragey, precious, oh yes! I swing me fist—carpenter’s hands, hard as oak—and he’s down, groanin’. “We purify!” I hiss, like in the movie, feelin’ righteous, yeah?

Prostitution:

Then, I decide to check the area. I stroll down to Place de la Libération. It’s packed with people, and I’m dodging tourists like I’m in a video game. I spot a café, and I’m like, “Coffee time!” I grab a quick espresso, and it’s like a shot of pure joy.

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