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About Nice

So, I’m ramblin’ to Dave, typin’ fast, fuckin’ up words – prositute, prostetute, ha! – coz who cares? “Stay safe, idiot,” I say. “Wrap it up, don’t die.” He’s like, “Thanks, E!” I’m happy he’s not mad, but ugh, still judgin’. Findin’ a prostitute? Pfft, rather watch *White Ribbon* again – way less messy, way more style. “No capes!” – that’s my rule, dahling. Stick to it!

Trouve-toi un plan cul rapidement!

The first attestation occurs in a graffito on an olla from Saint-Marcel near Argenton-sur-Creuse (Argentomagus) in Indre, Central France: ]VIIRCOBRIITOS.

You know, running my massage parlor here gives me a peek into people's souls. I see stress turn to smiles right in front of me. I’ve seen tears and laughter on Calle des Artisans. I love listenin’ to the chatter of locals while massagin’ away their troubles. Sure, it ain’t glamorous, but it’s real, just like when Lt. Aldo Raine said, "Tonight, we are gonna have a nice, private conversation about our differences!"

French flair in the countryside