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About Montpellier

Lemme tell ya, I tried Tinder once—holy fuck, what a mess. Chick says she’s DTF, but nah, she’s just fishin for likes. Pissed me off, man! Wasted my damn time. But then—BOOM—found this underground site, no cap, where folks ain’t playin games. Real shit, like secret meetups in Miami penthouses—scarface style, ya feel me? Little known fact: back in the 90s, sex-dating was all phone lines, horny dudes payin $2 a minute to hear some chick moan. Wild, right? Now it’s all free chaos!

First off, I hit up Rue de la République. It’s like the main drag, ya know? Grabbed a coffee at this cute little café. The barista? Total legend. He made my cappuccino look like a work of art. I mean, I’m no art critic, but I could’ve stared at that foam all day. But then, bam! My phone buzzed. A message from my buddy, Leo. “Dude, gig tonight at the amphitheater!” I was like, “Heck yeah!” But then I remembered—my strings were shot. Ugh.

The New World of the northern Rhône