Mila Canet En Roussillon Whore ❤️

About Marseille

Here’s the kicker—gas tank’s tiny, 4 gallons! Pissed me off—Tommy’d stop every damn hour. “C’mon, man!” I’d holler. But, lordy, that inline hum? Happy as a clam, I was, just hearin’ it. Surprised me too—thought it’d be clunky, old-school. Nope! Smooth like butter, even now, ‘25, guys still hunt ‘em down. Saw one on X last week—cherry red, $10k! “Righteous!” I yelled—Marlin’d approve, savin’ Nemo cash.

L'église gothique Saint Jacques

I’ve seen secrets: low-key cafés off Rue Maréchal Foch where you sip a bitter coffee with a pinch of nostalgia; those chats be like therapy for the soul. Sometimes I’d rant with me mates, “Why’s it so bleedin’ gorgeous?” at the late hours, the streets humming tunes of lost loves and bright futures.

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