Cora Berre L'etang Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️

About Marseille

Love ‘em, hate ‘em – they’re real, y’know? Not fake-arse saints. Rough as hell, some of ‘em – scars, tales, like Malik’s busted face. Ever think how they talk? Slang’s their shield – “johns,” “tricks,” quick and dirty. Keeps ‘em sharp. Me, I’d be rubbish at it – too twitchy, too loud. *whines* “We hates it, we does!” – but respect? Yeah, I got that. Tough as nails, they are. Precious, even.

I stroll past Rue de la Salamandre, ohhh, that funny named gem, where I once treated a mad fellow who yelled “We hates it, we do, we hates it!” after a long day, his muscles twisted in pain. Pff, poor bastard, but yess. The parks, oh! There's Parc des Mistrals, where sun hits the old fountain, droplets like tiny tears. I once left my massage table there, and oh blimey, a gecko crawled on it! Precious... but we laughed.

Pedersen wins Paris-Nice 6th stage, Jorgenson still in yellow