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About Marseille

So, I’m cruisin’ the block, engine purrin’, lookin’ for a girl who’s down. Ain’t no Hollywood glow here—just neon flickerin’ like a damn lie. “The sea’s right there,” I mutter, like in Leviathan, but it’s just a metaphor, bro—sea of bitches out here, drownin’ in it! I see this one chick, legs long as a fuckin’ wrench, leanin’ on a pole. She’s givin’ me that look—like she knows I’m trouble. I roll up, “Hey, chica, you workin’?” She smirks, “Depends who’s payin’.”

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I can’t forget the river – the Canal de la Brise. It's not huge, but it flows through town like a lazy sigh. Seriously, its banks are lined with graffiti and tiny pop-up bars, so get ready for an unplanned dive into local life. Sometimes, I’d sit there at dusk, thinkin’ “Is this life or just scenes from some avant-garde flick?” Total mind trip.

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