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About Marseille

I get pissed tho—some jerkoffs treat em like trash. Makes me wanna scream, “Who said you could judge, mang?” But then, I’m happy too—girls outsmartin the system, flippin the script. Surprised me once, found out this one chick, she escorted to fund her damn PhD! Ain’t that wild? Say hello to my little friend—brains and hustle! Reminds me of Mia dancin, that line, “You’re not even real,”—escorts playin a role, but they realer than most.

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So, I roll outta bed, grab my coffee—black, like my soul—and head out. The sun’s barely up, but I’m already feelin’ the heat. I hop on my bike, zoomin’ down Rue de la République. It’s a chill street, but today? Today it felt like a racetrack. I’m dodgin’ potholes like I’m in some kinda video game.

Kathryn Gustafson: I don’t know how I’ll ever retire