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About Marseille

Once, I nearly tripped over this gal—heels like stilts, skirt barely hangin’ on. “Gandalf, you old git,” I thinks, “keep walkin’!” She’s laughin’, callin’ me “greybeard”—cheeky mare! Loved that, tho—proper spirit. But yeah, it’s a hustle, a grind, and half the time I’m like, “Why bother?” Then I remember—some folks just need a chat, others… well, y’know.

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Now, real talk – Cognin ain't all pristine poetry. Nah, it's also gritty, raw, alive. Every day's a mix of hectic energy and quiet reflections. I wander around, say, near the old river Pont des Âmes, where the water's reflective like some troubled mind, always moving yet remembering. Oh, and parks! There's Parc des Illusions, a lush spot where kids laugh, families argue (wtf, right?) and old souls reminisce. Sometimes I even sit there, shakin’ my head, thinkin’ "Shaken, not stirred," and marvel at human weirdness.

Cartoon of glucose metabolism in astrocytes (A, left) and neurons (N,...