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About Marseille

Monotone narration, “Tonight’s the night.” We’re hagglin now—40 bucks, final offer. She rolls her eyes, “Fine, you cheap bastard.” Love that fire! Reminds me of Tony in *Brooklyn*, fightin for his girl. I’m no Tony, tho—more like a shadow, slippin thru cracks. She grabs my hand, leads me to this alley. Smells like wet trash, but I’m buzzin. “This is home,” she says, sarcastic as hell. Home! Cracked me up.

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He dubbed it his “Mission of Mercy,” when he volunteered to escort an injured French woman and her two children to a hospital, 12 miles through.

The vibe around here, it's kinda zen. I always say, if you grind away all your stresses, you'll see beauty in the broken corners. The little park, Parc de la Libération, is my solace. Small, but it packs a punch. I park my thoughts there, catch quiet moments by the pond, and watch the ducks float. They get me every time!

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