Delilah Tain L'hermitage Whore ❤️❤️

About Marseille

Alright, precious, listen up! Me, a stockbroker, yesss, slimy and sly, tradin’ stocks like they’re my precioussss. Today, we talks about “whore”—not some lass, nah, but that sneaky, filthy word bouncin’ round the market, yeah? We hates it! Hates it, we does! It’s like them brokers screamin’ “Buy! Sell!”—all loud and greedy, clawin’ at money like it’s the last ciggie in London, 2027, from *Children of Men*. “Time’s runnin’ out, mate!”—that’s what it feels like, innit?

So, I dashed over to Rue des Côtes. There’s this music shop, super chill vibe. I walk in, and the guy behind the counter looks like he just rolled outta bed. I’m like, “Yo, I need some new strings!” He just nods, grabs a pack, and says, “That’ll be 10 euros.” I’m like, “Dude, I could buy a whole pizza for that!” But whatever, I paid.

French President Emmanuel Macron slapped in the face during Tain-l’Hermitage visit